Made in Greece: Studies in Popular Music [1 ed.] 113881198X, 9781138811980, 9781138489523, 9781315749075

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Made in Greece

Made in Greece: Studies in Popular Music serves as a comprehensive and thorough introduction to the history, sociology, and musicology of contemporary Greek popular music. Each essay covers the major figures, styles, and social contexts of pop music in Greece, first presenting a general description of the history and background of popular music in Greece, followed by essays, written by leading scholars of Greek music, that are organized into thematic sections: Hugely Popular, Art Song Trajectories, Greekness beyond Greekness, Counter Stories, and Present Musical Pasts. Dafni Tragaki is an ethnomusicologist and assistant professor in the Department of History, Archaeology, and Social Anthropology at the University of Thessaly, Greece.

Routledge Global Popular Music Series Series Editors: Franco Fabbri, Conservatorio di Musica Arrigo Boito di Parma, Italy, and Goffredo Plastino, Newcastle University, UK

The Routledge Global Popular Music Series provides popular music scholars, teachers, students, and musicologists with a well-informed and up-to-date introduction to different world popular music scenes. The series of volumes can be used for academic teaching in popular music studies, or as a collection of reference works. Written by those living and working in the countries about which they write, this series is devoted to popular music largely unknown to Anglo-American readers. Made in Spain: Studies in Popular Music Edited by Silvia Martínez and Héctor Fouce Made in Italy: Studies in Popular Music Edited by Franco Fabbri and Goffredo Plastino Made in Japan: Studies in Popular Music Edited by To¯ru Mitsui Made in Brazil: Studies in Popular Music Edited by Martha Tupinambá de Ulhôa, Cláudia Azevedo and Felipe Trotta Made in Latin America: Studies in Popular Music Edited by Julio Mendívil and Christian Spencer Espinosa Made in Korea: Studies in Popular Music Edited by Hyunjoon Shin and Seung-Ah Lee Made in Sweden: Studies in Popular Music Edited by Alf Björnberg and Thomas Bossius Made in Hungary: Studies in Popular Music Edited by Emília Barna and Tamás Tófalvy Made in France: Studies in Popular Music Edited by Gérôme Guibert and Catherine Rudent Made in the Low Countries: Studies in Popular Music Edited by Lutgard Mutsaers and Gert Keunen Made in Turkey: Studies in Popular Music Edited by Ali C. Gedik Made in Australia and Aotearoa/New Zealand: Studies in Popular Music Edited by Shelley Brunt and Geoff Stahl Made in Greece: Studies in Popular Music Edited by Dafni Tragaki

Made in Greece Studies in Popular Music

Edited by Dafni Tragaki

First published 2019 by Routledge 711 Third Avenue, New York, NY 10017 and by Routledge 2 Park Square, Milton Park, Abingdon, Oxon, OX14 4RN Routledge is an imprint of the Taylor & Francis Group, an informa business © 2019 Taylor & Francis The right of Dafni Tragaki to be identified as the author of the editorial material, and of the authors for their individual chapters, has been asserted in accordance with sections 77 and 78 of the Copyright, Designs and Patents Act 1988. All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reprinted or reproduced or utilized in any form or by any electronic, mechanical, or other means, now known or hereafter invented, including photocopying and recording, or in any information storage or retrieval system, without permission in writing from the publishers. Trademark notice: Product or corporate names may be trademarks or registered trademarks, and are used only for identification and explanation without intent to infringe. Library of Congress Cataloging-in-Publication Data Names: Tragaki, Dafni. Title: Made in Greece : studies in popular music / [edited by] Dafni Tragaki. Description: New York, NY : Routledge, 2018. Identifiers: LCCN 2017058557| ISBN 9781138811980 (hardback) | ISBN 9781138489523 (pbk.) Subjects: LCSH: Popular music—Greece—History and criticism. Classification: LCC ML3499.G8 M33 2018 | DDC 781.6409495—dc23 LC record available at https://lccn.loc.gov/2017058557 ISBN: 978-1-138-81198-0 (hbk) ISBN: 978-1-138-48952-3 (pbk) ISBN: 978-1-315-74907-5 (ebk) Typeset in Minion Pro by Florence Production Limited, Stoodleigh, Devon, UK

Contents

List of Illustrations Preface Series Foreword

ix xi xiii

Introduction: Greek Popular Music Studies?

1

DAFNI TRAGAKI

Part I: Hugely Popular 1

15

Sentiment, Memory, and Identity in Greek Laiko Music (1945–1967)

17

LEONIDAS ECONOMOU

2

Anna Vissi: Singing Greece’s Contemporary Socio-Cultural History

29

IOANNIS POLYCHRONAKIS

3

No More Babes on the Dance-Stage: The Changing Modes of Spectatorship in Athenian Live Music Nightclubs

41

IOANNIS TSIOULAKIS

Part II: Art Song Trajectories 4

53

“Art-Popular” Song and Modern Greek Poets – Interactions and Ideologies: The Case of Mikis Theodorakis

55

POLINA TAMBAKAKI

5

An “Impossible” Place: The Creative Antinomies of Manos Hadjidakis’ Modernism

65

PANAGIOTIS A. KANELLOPOULOS

6

Producing Entechno: Amalgamation and Hybridization in a Controversial Musical Style DIMITRIOS VARELOPOULOS

v

83

vi • Contents

Part III: Greekness beyond Greekness 7

Musical Poiesis, Erotic Cosmology, and Commodity Life: The Lena Platonos Project

97

99

STATHIS GOURGOURIS

8

Digital Music Creativity: Chipmusic in/from Greece

113

MARILOU POLYMEROPOULOU

9

“Sharing What We Lack”: Contextualizing Live Experimental Music in Post-2009 Athens

125

DANAE STEFANOU

Part IV: Counter-Stories 10

Popular Music and the Colonels: Terror and Manipulation under the Military Dictatorship (1967–1974)

137

139

ANNA PAPAETI

11

Popular Gypsy Musicians and the Political Economy of Affect in Contemporary Greece

153

ASPASIA (SISSIE) THEODOSIOU

12

“Lëviz mo la!”: Albanian Rap Music Made in Athens

167

LAMBRINI STYLIOU

Part V: Present Musical Pasts

179

13

181

Popular Music in Crete: The Case of the Lyra-Laouto Ensemble IOANNIS PAPADATOS AND KEVIN DAWE

14

“Dedicated to the Jamaica of Greece!”: Inventing Tradition, Copyrighting Place, and World Music Transformations of an Island Folk Dance

191

PANAYOTIS PANOPOULOS

15

Past Forward: Creative Re-inventions of Urban Popular Song in the Music of Sokratis Malamas DAFNI TRAGAKI

205

Contents • vii

CODA 16

Is Zorba More Greek than Greek Music?: How Greek Music is Perceived and Reproduced beyond Greece’s Borders

219

GAIL HOLST-WARHAFT

AFTERWORD 17

A Head Full of Gold: A Discussion with Yiannis Angelakas

229

DAFNI TRAGAKI

Notes on Contributors Index

249 253

Illustrations

Figures 2.1 3.1 3.2 5.1 5.2 5.3 5.4 5.5 5.6 5.7 5.8 5.9 8.1 10.1 10.2 11.1 11.2 11.3 15.1 17.1 17.2 17.3 17.4 17.5

Record cover of the single “Gia Sena” (For You) featuring Anna Vissi, 2015 Stage of Athenian pista covered in flowers Yiorgos pushing two females off the stage Manos Hadjidakis’ piano transcription of an excerpt from “Marsyas” Manos Hadjidakis, actress Marika Kotopouli and director Takis Mouzenidis during their cooperation for Aeschylus Oresteia Record cover of Meghalos Erotikos Manos Hadjidakis with composer Iannis Xenakis Athens Experimental Orchestra (Peiramatiki Orchistra Athinon) concert programme Manos Hadjidakis and his musicians working at the studio for 15 Esperinoi Andreas Rodousakis during a rehearsal with Hadjidakis’ Orchistra ton Chromaton Hadjidakis with some of his musician members of Orchistra ton Chromaton at a rehearsal break Manos Hadjidakis in conversation with a young man during an Anarchists’ Initiative protest The Greek Chipscene Network Gate of the former headquarters of the Special Interrogation Unit of the Greek Military Police (EAT/ESA), 1976 Interrogation cell at EAT/ESA, 1976 Record cover of Rom by Nikos Kypourgos Record cover of Songs of Greece’s Gypsies Record cover of Recital Sokratis Malamas on stage Yiannis Angelakas today Trypes Yiannis Angelakas and Nikos Veliotis Yiannis Angelakas and Dinos Sadikis Album cover of Kefali Gemato Chrysafi

30 42 48 66 68 69 71 72 73 74 75 78 121 146 147 157 158 160 214 231 237 238 242 246

Table 9.1 Multi-space venues that hosted experimental music gigs in Athens on a regular basis during all or part of the period 2009 to 2013

ix

127

Preface Dafni Tragaki

This volume has been motivated by my aspiration as an editor to question established notions of “the popular” formed in the shadows of the Frankfurtian “mass culture” theory and its contemporary repercussions, and to destabilize certainties about what is labeled “Greek popular music” and how we make sense of it. It gained life through an increasing concern with popular music as “a contradictory space”, in Stuart Hall’s words, where history and politics are continually negotiated, and the sort of problematic arising in “the double stake in popular culture, the double movement of containment and resistance” (Hall 1981: 228). By addressing the popular as a defining dimension of our everydayness, the main scope of this volume is to transcend essentialist definitions and bounded notions of the “popular” as a genre featured by special characteristics (musical structures, forms, aesthetics, orchestration, etc.), and particular modes of production and circulation. Instead, it suggests the consideration of every music as contingently popular and is intended to inspire the elaboration of theoretical hypotheses that question the politics of applying, revisiting, rejecting, or re-conceptualizing the “Greek popular” in music. Inevitably, such an approach situates the study of the popular within recent explorations in social and cultural theory in order to provide a critical understanding of “Greek popular music”, its epistemologies, and master narratives. It allows space for more interdisciplinarity and a fertile experimentation with theoretical tools and concepts hitherto disregarded in how “Greek popular music” has been disciplined as a field of study. This collection of essays touches upon a variety of topics representing the current state of research in Greek popular music through an array of disciplinary backgrounds and theoretical agendas. There are essays focusing on musical subjectivities (such as Manos Hadjidakis, Yiannis Angelakas, Sokratis Malamas, Stelios Kazantzidis, Lena Platonos, Anna Vissi, and Manolis Angelopoulos), others focusing on particular genre-worlds, such as laiko song, “art-popular” song, “Cretan traditional” music, the “ikariotiko”, chip-music scene, or “Albanian hip-hop”, and essays dealing with particular phenomena, such as the use of popular songs in torture during the Junta years, the changing performance contexts of experimental music in Athens, or the shifting cultures of spectatorship in pista urban nightclubs. While it accommodates a broad spectrum of Greek musical production, at the same time it does not aspire in any way to be an exhaustive study of Greek popular music, or a sort of an encyclopedic project, even if this was possible. There are several phenomena, genres, people and ever-growing scenes which have unfortunately been overlooked by scholarly interest until today next to topics which deserve further investigation and critical re-visiting. This scholarly shortage is tightly associated with Greek cultural politics, the formation of national historiographies, and with long-standing

xi

xii • Preface

academic traditions and their hesitation, occasionally, to embrace theories and methodologies which seemingly disturbed well-established conventions. Made in Greece challenges the picture so far. It brings together ethnomusicologists, anthropologists, historical musicologists, popular musicians and scholars from literature studies, several mature scholars next to a relatively younger generation of scholarship introducing their research orientations and fields of inquiry. Its cross-disciplinary character can thus attract a diverse readership wishing to familiarize with special issues of the Greek popular. All the while, it avoids the consideration of popular music in Greece as a sui generis phenomenon. Rather, it involves the examination of the many faces of music in Greece “made in Greece” and/or “made also in Greece” either identified as “Greek” or not. At the same time, the structuring of its sections suggest a reappraisal of the ways “Greek popular music” has been disciplined as a field of study: pasts intersect with presents, studies of wildly popular musicians found their way next to essays dealing with less audible urban scenes, sounds of indisputable Greekness next to sounds of questionable Greekness or sounds converting such dilemmas meaningless. On this basis, it explores the diverse—often contested—notions, senses and discursive formations of “Greek popular music” within the transnational flows and complex encounter of musical worlds, now and in the past, in the broader region and the rest of the world. “Greek popular” is thus examined as a multifarious and antinomical musical world, a personal narrative, a body of collective memories, a cultural heritage, as well as a continuous invention and fiction whose politics of representation are nurturing commonsensical perceptions of Greekness emerging in the global field of cultural production. It is explored through its authenticities and hybridities, modernities and utopias, cosmopolitanisms, technocultures, cosmologies and ontologies, counter-stories and forgotten histories, its alterities and icons. As the present collection of essays gains life within an era often also described as the “Greek crisis” the kind of epistemological revisiting suggested here eventually queries the ongoing (re)production and resurgence of stereotypical notions of the “Greek people” locally and abroad. Reference Hall, Stuart. [1981] 2006. “Deconstructing the Popular.” In Cultural Theory and Popular Culture. A Reader, ed. J. Storey. New York: Pearson, Prentice Hall, pp. 442–453.

Series Foreword

Popular music studies have progressed from the initial focus on methodologies to exploring a variety of genres, scenes, works and performers. British and North American musics have been privileged and studied first, not only for their geographic and generational proximity to scholars, but also for their tremendous impact. Everything else has been often relegated to the dubious “world music” category, with a “folk” (or “roots,” or “authentic”) label attached. However, world popular music is no less popular than rock ‘n’ roll, r&b, disco, rap, singersongwriters, punk, grunge, brit-pop or nu-gaze. It is no less full of history and passion, no less danceable, socially relevant and commercialized. Argentinian tango, Brazilian bossa nova, Mexican reggaeton, Cuban son and timba, Spanish and Latin American cantautores, French auteurscompositeurs-interprètes, Italian cantautori and electronic dance music, J-pop, German cosmic music and Schlager, Neapolitan Song, Greek entechno, Algerian raï, Ghanaian highlife, Portuguese fado, Nigerian jùjú, Egyptian and Lebanese Arabic pop, Israeli mizrahit, and Indian filmi are just a few examples of locally and transnationally successful genres that, with millions of records sold, are an immensely precious key to understanding different cultures, societies and economies. More than in the past there is now a widespread awareness of the “other” popular music; however, we still lack access to the original sources, or to texts upon which to rely. The Routledge Global Popular Music Series has been devised to offer to scholars, teachers, students and general readers worldwide direct access to scenes, works and performers that have been mostly not much or at all considered in the current literature, and at the same time to provide a better understanding of the different approaches in the field of non-Anglophone scholarship. Uncovering the wealth of studies flourishing in so many countries, inaccessible to those who do not speak the local language, is by now no less urgent than considering the music itself. The series website (www.globalpopularmusic.net) includes hundreds of audio-visual examples which complement the volumes. The interaction with the website is intended to give a wellinformed introduction to the world’s popular music from entirely new perspectives, and at the same time to provide updated resources for academic teaching. The Routledge Global Popular Music Series aims ultimately to establish a truly international arena for a democratic musicology through authoritative and accessible books. We hope that our work will help the creation of a different polyphony of critical approaches, and that you will enjoy listening to and being part of it. Franco Fabbri, Conservatorio di Musica Arrigo Boito di Parma, Italy Goffredo Plastino, Newcastle University, UK Series Editors

xiii

Introduction Greek Popular Music Studies? Dafni Tragaki

Prelude: Commonplaces and Banalities The location is a suburban mansion with a spacious, grassy garden and a swimming pool, the fortress-home of the mysterious family featured in the widely discussed film Dogtooth (directed by Yiorgos Lanthimos, 2009). The scene describes what appears to be a family ritual at a gathering in the living room where the father asks the teenage children: “Would you like to hear your grandfather singing?” The answer in disciplined unison is “Yes!” In a humorous turn of the plot the father plays a vinyl recording of Frank Sinatra singing “Fly Me to the Moon”.1 The children believe that this is the voice of their grandfather. Besides, they have been deliberately raised in total isolation; they have no experience, no contact with the world outside their suburban home, nor of Sinatra. As the family listens to the song, the father translates the lyrics for the children. His translation, however, is deliberately wrong. It is a lie. It is shockingly true, though, for the family, a powerful truth fabricated by the patriarchal father figure. Instead of translating, he actually invents new, rather childish and naive lyrics, transforming the famous US jazz standard into a song for the love of family and home: Dad loves us Mom loves us Do we love them? Yes, we love them I love my brothers and sisters because they love me too Spring fills my house Spring floods my little heart My parents are proud of me because I do my best But I’m always trying to do better My house, you’re beautiful and I love you and I will never leave you. Towards the end of the song the children dance with their mother (the father remaining removed and solemn), performing rather clumsy movements, almost following the rhythm. Their bodies manifest their ignorant lack of socialization with the outside world, their absolute detachment from any dancing habitus. They are intimating a sort of hectic alienation and subjugation, or

1

2 • Introduction

a self materialized within the surreal codes set by the sadistically overprotective family; a family that is mastering strategies of discipline, confinement, and the suppression of desire. Such techniques of the body are intended to produce a twisted ontology for the children next to the invention of a twisted family language, where Sinatra is identified as the voice of the grandfather, for instance, yellow flowers are “zombies”, or “sea” means “chair”. The family fest becomes a dark experiment in subjectification. Dogtooth represents what has been termed the “third wave” or “weird wave” in Greek independent cinema, and was awarded the “Un Certain Regard” prize at the Cannes Film Festival. A well-received film in Greece and abroad, it signaled, among other films, a radical break with long-standing clichés of the Greek self, such as those mediated and crystallized through the everlasting success of the by-now classics Zorba the Greek and Never on Sunday, or by subsequent generations of Greek cinematography. In contrast to the global popularity of the bouzouki sound worlds of the 1960s films of Greekness, the music in Dogtooth is sparingly present. Although the interpretation of such aesthetics of filmic ambiance is outside the scope of this Introduction, drawing our attention to the question of “what happened to music” in this case is apparently associated with the question of “what happened to Zorba”. The 1960s’ clichés of the Greek musical self widely circulated on the big screen have of course been variously undermined in Greek cultural production ever since their materialization as clichés.2 Yet, we could perhaps reflect upon the scene from Dogtooth as one gaining a life at a historical moment when the banalities of Zorba – this filmic archetype of the Greek soul – are apparently remediated within recent neocolonial (or cryptocolonial) discourses of “the Greek” and popular mediations of the “Greek experience”. If the 1960s’ filmic Greek self is proudly dancing away its misfortunes with arms outstretched as a way to deal with life’s adventures on a Cretan seashore, the Dogtooth scene is a choreography of an urban nightmare unraveling in the caged family setting somewhere on the metropolitan wealthy outskirts. Indeed, the family feast ritual also involves one of the most discussed scenes of the film, one centered around the teenage girls’ awkward dancing to the minor tune of the étude op. 60 no.7 for solo classical guitar by the romantic composer Matteo Carcassi played by their brother.3 The evident death of the Mediterranean stereotype in such mediations of Greek musicking – either conforming to . . . parody – challenges us to reconsider its fate within the precarious everydayness of the crisis and its narrations, as in the case of Dogtooth. Apparently, Zorba is in trouble. At the same time, as the scene of translational parody and its perverted setting suggests, Sinatra is, perhaps, also in trouble. If his vocal, “crooning” aesthetics echo a capitalist sentimentality of metropolitan optimism satisfying the desire for American 1960s intimacies, then the cynical remediation of “Fly Me to the Moon” in Dogtooth challenges the song’s cosmopolitan nostalgia at least in the Greek context. As a gesture deregulating the “Sinatra feeling” and all it possibly stands for – a crisis in itself – it provides a point for critique against a certain middle-class cosmopolitan Greek ontology that embodies (and is becoming in) Sinatra’s affective economies and its imaginative affinities – as Sinatra ironically becomes the voice of the grandfather. The frozen, sovereign body of the high-ranked executive – the monstrous father of the Dogtooth family – liquidates any remaining collective memory of Zorba’s naturalized, fleshed musicality mediating a disconcerted Greekness paralyzed by history in the early twentyfirst century. Sinatra’s nostalgia is a parody of nostalgia, its agencies and cultural milieus. How remote and irrelevant is the 1960s Mediterranean cliché of the Greek musical self today? The everlasting success of films like Zorba the Greek and Never on Sunday invested commonplaces

Introduction • 3

and/or banalities of Greekness branding the country as an escapist place and a tourist destination. Such strategies of marketing-via-othering Greece nurtured the fantasy, both locally and abroad, of the careless Greek, reveling and unconditionally immersing oneself in pleasure and passion, drinking and dancing, despite and against life’s hardships and misfortunes. Composed by Mikis Theodorakis and Manos Hadjidakis, the two most acclaimed composers in Greece respectively, both soundtracks contributed to the sculpturing of cliché notions of Greek popular music. More importantly, they both forged sites of musical memory, where the Greek self was materialized and naturalized in the sounds of the bouzouki. Such musical normalizations also conditioned hegemonic sensibilities of disciplining the ambivalent Greek Europeanness, while investing contested self-definitions and normalizing discourses within. Bouzouki aesthetics were popularized as the sonic substantiation of the Greek ontology, understood ever since as an almost atavist feature defining what it means to be Greek. Both songs subjectified the untamed subaltern represented as an authenticity of the European periphery; the infantilized native who, however, is the agent of indigenous lore challenging the rationalized, refined, educated, and civilized Western man, who, at the same time, is enchanted by this amusing noble savage knowing how to lead “a good life” – a time-worn colonial story. Those postwar mediations of the “Greek” negotiated the indeterminacy of its familiar otherness, regulating, at the same time, sensibilities of the Western self, who in both cases was represented as its hegemonic interlocutor. Song in both cases became the performative milieu where the Greek difference/sameness and its provisional civility emerged where bodies and senses became apart yet remained attached to the interplay of their suspended symbiosis. Song intimated the at once stray and submissive European alterity, while constituting the subjectivities surrendered to its “dream-work” in and out of the country within the historical moment of its cultural production and logic, as well as in the context of the song’s remediated temporalities (Gourgouris 1996). As a filmic song/bodily performance it constituted an engaging authenticity, available to the colonizing gaze, mediating by then established truisms and dualisms legitimated within capitalist imaginaries of the world emerging inside and outside of Greece. The Academy Award for “Best Original Song” in 1960 for the score of Never on Sunday signaled a momentum of intensified globality in the history of music made in Greece that was also inflamed through the famous choreographed syrtaki of Anthony Quinn still occupying the global fantasy of musical Greekness. As products of the international creative industry, they both gained a viral distribution and translatability within various contexts.4 Hadjidakis’ song for Never on Sunday was adapted in Spanish, Yiddish, Cantonese, German and French, while gaining an aura of Western metropolitanism in the mouths of Petula Clark, The Chordettes, Bing Crosby, Connie Francis and Eartha Kitt, among others. Even Miss Piggy from The Mappet Show enjoyed singing it in the parody of a Greek taverna (traditional restaurant) revelry that concludes with plate-smashing as an amusing Greek practice of recreational catastrophe. Theodorakis’ “Zorbas’ Dance”, as it is broadly known, was transformed into a song performed by Marcello Minerbi which reached the sixth place in the UK charts in July 1965. It became nationalized as a musical souvenir from Greece and, in subsequent decades, it gained clubanthem status in the Greek islands’ nightlife through its electronic manipulation as a techno dance tune for tourist consumption. Such mediated and diversely reproducible banalities of Greekness are still haunting ways of viewing “the Greek” and the fantasies of the natives inhabiting the southeastern edges of the European continent as it becomes evident in the resurgence of the neocolonial figure of the “Greek” featuring current liberal narratives of corruption and guilt

4 • Introduction

in the popular mediasphere. In this resilient imaginary of subjugation, “the Greek” never lost his dogtooth, to recall Lanthimos’ film. Contemplating “Greek Popular Music” So, what is Greek popular music? What do we know about it? The brief reflection on the global production of Greek popular music commonplaces given above could perhaps serve as a critical point for the reconsideration of its master narratives and epistemologies. In fact, one could hardly describe “Greek popular music” as a unified field of study. The available scholarly accounts dealing with diverse popular music phenomena in Greece are attached to a variety of disciplines, such as ethnomusicology, music folklore, history and social anthropology, comparative literature and sociology. The lack of a common disciplinary tradition and theoretical framework often resulted in a rather barren interdisciplinarity which, even when claiming dialogue and affinities, rather lingers the transcendence of disciplinary introvertness. At the same time, critical reflections upon the ways in which knowledge about the past and present is made, from the deconstruction of nationalist narratives to the study of invented traditions, of fictions and fixations defining the production of history and culture in Greece and abroad, suggest the need for a post-theoretical approach. Determined by the post-structuralist probing of grand theory as a unified explicatory system of abstraction following Stokes (2001), such an ethnomusicological approach involves a reconsideration of the normative discourses/epistemologies embedded in narrations of Greek music and/or music made in Greece. In what follows I would like to provide an overview of some basic epistemological issues pertaining to the disciplinarization of Greek popular music that could perhaps contribute to a fertile reorientation of the ways in which we produce knowledge about it. The National, the European and the Oriental Ever since its invention during the second half of the nineteenth and early twentieth century, when Greece became a nation-state, the imaginary museum of Greek national music, as Goehr would put it, has been defined by a recurrent friction among “European”, “oriental/Ottoman”, “Balkan” and “national”/“hellenic” identities claiming origins, affinities, discontinuities and belonging in order to justify the positioning of genres and musicians. Herzfeld (1982) and Politis (1999) extensively addressed the invention of “national music” within the project of the nationstate formation, European philhellenism and the emergence of Greek folklore studies. Today, “our national song” remains a powerful discursive construction driven by diverse political claims and cultural milieus, to the extent that nationalism served variously as a model theoretical rhetoric for interpreting musical phenomena in Greece. The constellation of essentialized musical identities occasionally acquired shifting or contested meanings and boundaries, attached to various narratives of origin, authenticity, locality, nationalism, Greekness and universality. In this way, Greek popular song, genres, practices and musicians have been examined, explained, measured, compared and historicized in terms of belonging to diverse, supposedly confined geo-cultural spheres or bounded “great traditions” made up of distinctive musical features. “Western”, “Ottoman”, “oriental”, “Balkan”, “byzantine” and “national” became labels of musical identity understood as either partial, mixed or complete, if not sui generis. Pennanen, for instance, attributed the nationalization of smyrneika in ethnocentric Greek scholarly accounts, to the deliberate neglect of the “multiethnic fusion

Introduction • 5

music culture” (Pennanen 2004: 20), suggesting instead the term “Ottoman-Greek café music”. While acknowledging the “pluralism of Ottoman popular music” (ibid.: 4), he recognized “Westernization”, “modernization” and “orientalization” as a set of reified processes explaining changes in the musical structures of postwar rebetiko and laiko song. Both genres are accounted for as localities developing within trends imported from either the “East” or the “West” (Pennanen 1997, 1999). What is an originally “oriental”, “Ottoman” or “local” musical feature in this case, however, and what are the limits of the “Western”? Such allegedly antithetical categories become questionable, for instance, in Mark Mazower’s historical account Salonica, the City of Ghosts showing that “Europe” and its “modern” was part of the city’s cosmopolitanism already during the Ottoman empire era (Mazower 2005). They become further problematized when considering, for instance, the appointment of European art musicians in the Ottoman court, as was the case of Giuseppe Donizetti who was invited by the reformist Sultan Mahmud II in 1828 to oversee the training of European-style Ottoman military bands, and who also offered lessons to members of the royal court (Spinetti 2010).5 Are we perhaps risking the revival of canonical (orientalist/occidentalist, or else) dualities by interpreting music made in Greece through a double discourse of static differences determining its world of musics? Moreover, what is the place of “oriental” and of other labels of identity in the collective memory and in the subjectively lived musical experience now and then, namely beyond their ethnocentric scholarly and institutional representations and nationalist discursive formations?6 Furthermore, it is worth reconsidering the understanding of modernity as a (Euro-American) Western project in diverse accounts of Greek music, where the “modern” is often seen as a mechanism of cultural hegemony (see e.g. Liavas 2009). No less because of the evolutionary connotations embedded in the discourse that goes, “once we were traditional, then we became modernized”. What if we turn away from totalizing notions of musical modernization based on the assumption of the West being the emblematic center of the “modern” progressively infecting the peripheries and their local traditions? What if we attempt to explore the multiplicities of musical modernity or the “alternative modernities” made in Greece (Gaonkar 2001)? Such a perspective could highlight the complex negotiations of the “modern” next to hermetic notions of “tradition” within musical performances and practices, subjective positionings and their historical situatedness. What kind of modernity and/or tradition is produced, for instance, in the emergence of the Greek Punk-Rock scene in the 1980s framed within a certain disenchantment with the post-Junta democracy and the populist state-cultural politics? Does it suffice to explore the Greek Punk-Rock scene as a symptom of imported counter-cultural sounds, a local mimicking of Western trends or a capitalist appropriation of youth resistance? Or: what happens when Greek music is perceived as a modernity outside of Greece? Oded Erez, for instance, in his study of the reception of Greek music in Israel from 1952 to 1982, described the thriving Greek and Latin-American popular music in the country as “audiotopias of marginal Occidentality”, where Greek music became “both exotic and western at the same time” (Erez 2016: 149–150). Often enough the designation of rationalized Greek popular music identities (and no less those of “art music”) are rooted in mythologies negotiating and contesting crucial moments of Greek history, politics and power relations. To that extent, they re-stage history in music. This was the case of the so-called “rebetiko debate” that erupted among leftist intellectual circles during the years following World War II and the Greek civil war. Controversy developed in press articles between exponents and critics of the genre around the problematics of rebetiko Greekness vis-à-vis its “oriental” legacy and its place in the “national music” historical narrative. Rebetiko was criticized for its association with marginal social enclaves of allegedly dubious

6 • Introduction

morality, its drug culture and the supposedly dangerous affective worlds of melancholy, sadness and social alienation. Questioning the “healthy” nature of rebetiko and its authenticity as “Greek popular song” was framed within the postwar anxiety among the spiritual leaders of the Left to deal with the defeated agonistic consciousness of the “people”. In the aftermath of the civil war, they were urged to invent a strategy for the development of the “truly” neohellenic song and to envision a communist utopia in music (see Gauntlett 1991; Tragaki 2005; Zaimakis 2009, 2010). The understanding of modernity as a Western hegemonic project also features in the proEuropeanist narratives of Greek popular music often accommodating a civilizational discourse where the “European reformation” of neohellenic music is seen as perpetually suspended. Postwar Greek musical production occasionally becomes a medium for evaluating Greek Europeanness through criteria grounded in the enduring axiological dichotomy “high/low culture” formed in the shadows of Frankfurtian “mass culture” theory and its contemporary repercussions. Populism is often mainstreamed as the pathology of neohellenic music’s marginality or, even worse, failed Europeanness. Pro-Europeanist discourse thus recycles time-worn elitist discourses of European modernity, “high culture” and its Greek fates nurturing and legitimizing the need for conforming to European cultural standards. If anything, the pro-Europeanist discourse of incomplete belonging and frail civility harbors a nationalist claim in itself. It does so by pathologizing the “oriental muse” heritage and its current agencies and, even more, by resurging a highbrow reservation with the popular and the aesthetics of the “people” represented as European “natives”. In this case the “oriental/Ottoman/Balkan” is theorized as a heritage parochializing Greek music at the edge of modernity’s paradise. Pro-Europeanism thus tends to become an authoritative discourse remediating Greek popular music as Europe’s internal other – a “living paradox” in Herzfeld’s terms (Herzfeld 2002). Musical Cosmopolitanism Made in Greece: “East Meets West” or “Greece Meets the World” Inventing musical identity as a representational strategy serving taxonomies and mappings of “musical traditions” also draws our attention to the ways in which the notion of cosmopolitanism has been employed in diverse discourses and factographies defining commonplaces of the popular in the Greek public sphere. Occasionally, “cosmopolitanism” has become an explanatory framework for exploring and defending the antinomies and multiplicities of Greek popular music integrating East–West mobilities, both rooted in the oriental/traditional past and (re)produced in the global present. Such understandings of cosmopolitanism revisit at the same time the modern desire for regulating musical knowledge in manageable terms of “local”/“national”, “oriental” and “Western”, adding “cosmopolitan” as a label for their playful cross-breeding. It has either been understood as the pluralistic counterpoint to an hermetic interpretation of national music, or identified with belonging to the West and the cosmos seen as the “others” of locality. Meanwhile, this notion of cosmopolitanism was instrumentalized in the multicultural historicization that (re)positioned Greek music within the Eastern Mediterranean and Balkan “musical neighborhood” and its turbulent pasts, a historicization occasionally re-emerging in nationalist/ orientalist/Balkanist sentimentalities and nostalgias. While subverting the problematic notion of “national culture”, the acknowledgment of multiplicity occasionally lurks in the normative and normalizing cosmopolitan narrative of musical Greekness as idiosyncratic, “suggestively

Introduction • 7

marginal”, in Herzfeld’s words, because of its old and new trajectories, contradictions and stories (Herzfeld 2002). Recently, and commonly today, hybridity is no longer treated as a problem; rather it is highlighted as the accomplishment of a nation with a special history and culture that supposedly knows how to manage an otherwise incompatible symbiosis in the region. Occasionally, music is discursively modeled as the cultural terrain that paradigmatically justifies the cosmopolitan specificities defining Greek popular culture. While widening our scope of investigation, at the same time, such a discourse identifies “popular music” as an exceptional field determined by a special kind of musical cosmopolitanism, a discourse which is less visible in epistemological narratives addressing spheres of Greek musical production beyond the popular or of cultural production beyond music itself.7 What sorts of musical worlds and fantasies are becoming within such legitimacies of cosmopolitanism? Among the most enduring mythologies of cosmopolitan Greekness is that of the “East meets West”, one also celebrated by the Greek world music market despite its faint presence in the transnational music industry. The emergence in the early 2000s of the Greek “ethnic-jazz” (or “world-jazz”) scene is exemplary for the appropriation and mainstreaming of discourses of hybridity and fusion processed in the creative intermingling of musical “elements” and of musicians often coming from diverse scenes and, sometimes, from diverse origins. Such was the so-described Greek-Indian musical “experiment” bringing together in a series of recordings Petroloukas Halkias, a leading figure of the Epirot clarino-playing tradition with acknowledged masters of the Indian classical music scene and the Crete-based world musician Ross Daly, all improvising together within and away from their traditions towards a cosmopolitanism basically invented in the recording studio.8 The Greek jazz scene, rooted in the 1960s/1970s and pioneered by musicians like the composer-pianist Sakis Papadimitriou, was circulated either by small “independent” and genre-specific or transnational labels of wider market reach in Greece and abroad, and has been institutionalized in Greek academic music departments and conservatoires. It has also been supported by major cultural institutions, local media, such as jazz magazines and radio broadcast, and staged at festivals, and it has created a scene of devotees also populating urban jazz venues and clubs. Its agents have also been performing outside the country, while several have studied in established jazz institutions in Europe and the USA. Although the “East–West” cliché – otherwise discoursed as “Greece meets the world” – in the case of Greek “ethnic jazz” emerged relatively recently, accommodating the fusion narrative of the world music market in the branding of the Greek “ethnic-jazz” genre, similar phenomena occurring much earlier have thus far attracted comparatively limited scholarly attention. Such was the case, for instance, with Dizzy Gilespie’s concert in Athens in 1956, when Gilespie was photographed dressed as a tsolias and standing between the Acropolis columns embracing his trumpet. The photo was used to feature the cover of the recording “Dizzy in Greece” produced by Verve a year later. In Athens Gilespie was accompanied by the young pianist Quincy Jones and the saxophonist Phil Woods, and was invited for an interview on Greek State Radio in the presence of Manos Hadjidakis. Hadjidakis suggested that they should also listen to the music of Vasilis Tsitsanis, the famous rebetiko composer, who was then performing successfully together with Yiannis Papaioannou at the “Tzitzifies” venue.9 During the visit, Tsitsanis invited the AfroAmerican musicians on stage for a jam session that lasted into the early morning hours. Gilespie later included a jazz adaptation of Hatzidakis’ Never on Sunday tune in his album The Cool World released in 1960, while Phil Woods cooperated with the bouzouki player Ioannis Tsomidis on the Greek Cooking album released in 1967, where he included an early ethno-jazz remake of Mikis Theodorakis’ Zorba the Greek.

8 • Introduction

Despite the mainstreaming of East–West discourse in the Greek ethnic-jazz scene, such earlier creative entanglements of jazzified Greekness, Afro-American tsolias album covers or rebetiko jazz legends’ jamming were by and large viewed as curiosities of Greek popular music history. As such, they failed to become part of its narrativization. In any case, East–West mythology was again justified in the long-standing discourse of the Ottoman/Balkan/Mediterranean shared cosmopolitan past and its potential universalities. Valued and remembered today as a cultural heritage of musical pluralism and euphoric multiculturalism, such a mythology sustained the understanding of musical Greekness as an exemplary zone of encounters. While ethnomusicologists, at least, would agree that processes of exchange and appropriation define a plethora of music-making processes around the world, the sensibility of bridging the opposites both as a cultural achievement and as a vision favors a discourse of musical Greekness as uniquely hybrid, an exemplary laboratory of ala franca and ala tourca convergences and divergences. My intention here is not to discredit “cosmopolitanism” as a valuable, although hazy, analytical category for interpreting Greek popular music phenomena and the networking of people, practices, sounds, instruments, genres and places (Stokes 2007). It is important, however, I believe, to reconsider the ways in which such normative cosmopolitanism became, especially recently, both a master narrative of Greek popular music and a cultural intimacy regulating imaginaries of the discursive and geographical space called “Greece”. This is no less because it also served as a counterpoint to the mainstreaming of hegemonic nationalist narratives and imaginaries of the Greek/Balkan popular as a field of conflicted cultural interests. Cosmopolitanism as an orthodoxy of musical Greekness seeks to interpret local musical realities in terms of a twofold exceptionality: it is at once favored for its ingenious rapprochements of “East” and “West” and confusing, because it legitimates Greek music’s liminal positioning in a putatively fugitive zone of Europeanness. Such an exceptionality authenticates Greek popular music as a European conundrum; it describes a musical Greekness that at once evades and justifies history. All the while, as an orthodoxy, it embodies a discourse of tolerance (one well accommodated in post-1989 European democracies) and assimilation privileging reconciliation both as a form of forgiving the past in music and a necessity for the future.10 To that extent, it apparently resonates with the late liberal narrative of post-European consensus and the promise that a supposedly new global order will mitigate the persisting asymmetries of old and new hegemonies, whether national, colonial or otherwise. The counter-response, of course, is neither a cosmopolitics of revenge and justice nor the policing of music history. It is perhaps worthy, however, to draw our attention to the ways in which normative cosmopolitanism as a discourse of Greek popular music recently became a strategy for taming memory through its refashioning to a museum of neutralized cultural differences and indigeneities. Such late liberal cosmopolitan logic seeks to domesticate musical difference by effecting its multicultural branding next to a rhetoric of respect transforming it into a gentrified alterity, cultural value, creative exception and a human right. Revising cosmopolitan strategies of “identity” will perhaps contribute to the reconsideration of cosmopolitanism beyond the East–West mythology or that of “Greece and the cosmos”, namely beyond discourses of harmonic coexistence and the creative freedom enjoyed in the transcendence and authorization of cultural differences.11 Undoing cosmopolitanism as a scenery of transcultural democracy may serve as an important step towards exploring Greek popular music cosmopolitics both as a performance of belonging, which may also be painful and futile, and as an agonistic terrain for multiple subjectifications and negotiations claiming a ceaselessly becoming world (Braidotti 2013).

Introduction • 9

Geographies of Greek Popular Songs: Unsettling the Map The frictions and connections narrated in dominant epistemologies and public intimacies of Greek popular music regulate its positionality among others in terms of emplacement. If the scholarly Europeanist discourse provincialized Greek popular music at the borderline of civilization (see e.g. Tsetsos 2011), the kaleidoscopic globalism of world music discourse reframed its emplacement through recurrent Mediterraneanist and Balkanist discourses co-authoring its imaginary cartography in the world of music.12 Meanwhile, their complex mutuality, occasionally discrepant, with old and new national narratives of “our popular” shifted the identification and inclusiveness of the Greek popular in accordance with the changing geo-political landscapes and political claims of Greekness. Rigorous sensibilities of the Greek popular have been addressed, for instance, through the perspectives of network theory featuring Greek music ethnographies during the 1990s, unsettling conventional mappings of musical locality and its production, and highlighting instead the dynamics of musical exchanges contextualized within the mobilities featuring the Eastern Mediterranean and beyond (see e.g. Kavouras 1997). Processes of musical deterritorilization and reterritorialization have also been explored by Buchanan, whose scrupulous understanding of Balkan cosmopolitanism and cultural interplay occurring in conjunction with nationalist agendas and regionalist claims vis-à-vis a shared Ottoman imperial past challenged the notion of the Balkans as a place and a metaphor (Buchanan 2007). Through focusing on the transcultural musical flows, Buchanan drew our attention to the centrifugal and centripetal forces defining the poetics of genres and the songs’ pathways in the region. What is going on, however, when those transnational pathways are relatively obscure? What is happening despite history and culture being seen as defining mechanisms of musical production? How are we going to integrate into our theorizing of Greek popular music the sorts of cross-currents that take place as exceptionalities, randomly, outside common sense, within unpredictable encounters? Delving, for instance, into the micro-history of a popular song’s transnational wayfaring, as Tim Ingold would put it, could further promote the problematics of mapping Greekness in popular music.13 Such is the case of the popular song “Antonis” (Antonis) composed by Mikis Theodorakis, whose stories of mediations and remediations are briefly outlined below.14 The song “Antonis” was included in the Mauthausen Trilogy, a cycle of songs recorded in 1966, which premiered in London in 1967, when Theodorakis was arrested as a communist and his music was censored in Greece by the Colonels’ rule. The lyrics were written by Iakovos Kampanellis, a Greek playwright, who was imprisoned in the Mauthausen concentration camp by the Nazis during World War II.15 In Greece it is strongly associated with the Left and has been appropriated by the Communist Party, whose voice has been Maria Farandouri, one of the most prominent singers of politiko tragoudi, namely the “political song” genre. “Antonis’” tune is mainly recalled as a communist resistance song rather than as a song commemorating the Holocaust. It is often played in the context of left-wing political rallies and festivals of the Greek Communist Party (KKE). Its march-style aesthetics are emblematic of the politiko tragoudi genre aimed at awakening the revolutionary ethos of the Greek people and empowering their struggle against the forces of suppression, since it was largely inspired by socialist-realist art ideologies also embraced at the time by Theodorakis. In 2015, “Antonis’” instrumental version also occupied the advertising spot used during the pre-election campaign of the left-wing SYRIZA Party. In 2001 after the fall of the Taliban in Kabul, the reopening of Radio Afghanistan was marked by the performance of the song “Watan” (Baily 2015: 113–114).16 “Watan” (Homeland)

10 • Introduction

appropriated “Antonis’” tune. It was performed by Abdul Wahab Madadi, a famous Afghan singer, music expert and a prominent producer, and later Director of Music for Radio Television Afghanistan for over 30 years, including the Soviet era (1978–1989). During the 1960s, when Theodorakis’ song premiered in Europe, Madadi studied radio journalism in Cologne, Germany, where he also received training in European art music appreciation. He originally recorded “Watan” in 1980 set to new lyrics by Nasser Tahuri, an acknowledged contemporary poet and supporter of Maoist ideology.17 In Afghanistan “Antonis”, rematerialized in “Watan”, became an anthem for the sacrificial love of the country; it became a song of national sentimentalism. In 1982 Madadi recorded for state television the song “Shahidân” (Martyrs), based on the same tune yet with a much slower tempo, praising Afghan martyrdom, and also set to new lyrics by Latif Nazimi. According to Baily, “this was a dangerous song to perform, for although both sides in the conflict could claim its martyrs, it was clearly intended to commemorate the death of those who were fighting for the mujahideen” (Baily 2015: 113). The performance of the song was received with indignation by the PDPA’s authorities and almost cost Madadi his life. Recordings of “Martyrs” were distributed by Madadi in Germany, where he was offered political asylum in 1999. Notwithstanding its appropriation by “Watan”, a song intended to support the new president, Babrak Kamal, appointed by the Soviet forces which invaded Afghanistan in 1978, the tune was remediated in a mujahideen song in 1982, while in 2001 – again as “Watan” – it signaled the historical momentum of the Taliban’s fall. Meanwhile, “Antonis” was already circulating in Europe and the USA in the realm of the transnational film industry as the instrumental title theme of the film Z by Costas Gavras released in 1969. Costas Gavras won the New York Film Critics Circle Awards for Best Director and Best Film, while Jean-Louis Trintignant was awarded Best Actor at the Cannes Film Festival. The film’s scenario was framed within the turbulent era leading up to the Colonels’ coup in Greece and the political assassination of the left-wing politician and activist Grigoris Lambrakis impersonated by Ives Montand. Through Z the tune was widely mediated as the sound of the anti-dictatorship movement used in this case in the soundtrack of a political thriller plotting the Junta’s devious sovereignty. In its transformation from a song to an instrumental theme (also with an orchestration intended for the soundtrack) any connection with the Holocaust was lost, although this was already the case in the Greek framework of its memorialization.18 In 2014 the soundtrack version of “Antonis” was used in the video uploaded by a Kurdish YouTube user praising the female warriors fighting against the Jihad forces who were ravaging the village of Kobani on the Turkish–Syrian borders. The video also went viral in the Greek mediasphere.19 “Antonis’” pathways of remediations are continually expanding. The song was also recorded in Israel with Hebrew lyrics as part of the Mauthausen Trilogy. In Memoriam of the Liberation CD featuring the voice of the Jewish singer Elinoar Moav Veniadis. Its performance materialized the nationalized Holocaust trauma, emerging at the same time as a site of post-memory in Hirsch’s terms (Hirsch 2008).20 Back in Austria it was performed in the context of the memorial anniversary concerts attended by the European state authorities organized at the Mauthausen camp which had been transformed into a Holocaust museum – a celebrated site of New European post-memory. The Holocaust, the Greek Communist Party, the Lambrakis’ assassination, the Kobani massacre, the Soviet rule and the mujahideen in Kabul: these are the convoluted historical moments defining the song’s eventful wayfaring and cosmopolitics in the world of music.

Introduction • 11

“Antonis’” transnational circulation and remediations in the public sphere were generated within processes of collective/subjective historical consciousness, constantly evoking memories and post-memories, and accommodating imaginative projections of variant dystopic pasts. All the while, these dystopias defining the song’s translatability occurred both within and beyond the creative industry’s networks and marketing strategies, pointing to more or less exceptional instances of Greek musical globality. Such translatability defined diverse musical subjectifications (re)materializing the song’s affectivities and constantly producing, at the same time, new sensibilities through their variant performativities across space and time beyond Greece. “Antonis” is one among a plethora of Greek popular songs whose micro-histories are intriguing the regulative strategies of mapping the popular within and outside the scholarly realm and unsettling the authority of epistemological certainties. One could similarly reflect critically upon the entanglement of stories, trajectories and agencies in the case of the indoprepi (“Indianstyled”) songs traveling from the Hindi film industry to Greek recording studios and migrating in the Greek diaspora, the popularity of Italian 1960s popular songs featuring Greek lyrics, the appropriation of Theodorakis’ tunes by the Beatles and Edith Piaf, Hadjidakis’ popular songs’ transnational circulation, or phenomena such as Nana Mouschouri’s Eurovision and jazz career defying her Greekness, Yiovanna’s thriving popularity in the USSR, where she gave a series of successful concerts attracting thousands of admirers, or the young Eric Clapton’s adventures when gigging in the Athenian youth club scene during the 1960s. Evidently, popular songs and their agents are likely to escape geography, as are Greek popular songs or popular songs made in Greece.21 Their ontologies may be contingent and provisional. They may constantly enact irregularities, expanding conventional perceptions of Greek popular music which may creatively unsettle how we produce grand theoretical schemes and regulate its knowledge through a reconsideration of its relatively disregarded multidirectional mobilities and placeless encounters within the shifting geographies of musical production. Acknowledgments I am particularly grateful to John Baily for his valuable advice on Theodorakis’ Afghan adaptations; also to Gail Holst-Warhaft for her commitment as a contributor to this volume. Special thanks go to the series editors, Franco Fabbri and Goffredo Plastino, for their kind proposal to become the editor of this volume and for their generous support throughout the editing process. In addition, to all contributors for their patience in the long journey of making this book happen. Notes 1 2 3 4 5

6 7 8

The scene is available at www.youtube.com/watch?v=An4MP0RAjuw (accessed August 11, 2016). See, for instance, the film Ola Einai Dromos directed by Pantelis Voulgaris (1998), or the film Afti i Nyhta Menei directed by Nikos Panagiotopoulos (1999). The scene is available at www.youtube.com/watch?v=S_qc9stiWMk (accessed August 11, 2016). For a theoretical discussion of the film’s translatability see Papanikolaou (2013). Donizetti, the brother of the famous opera composer Gaetano Donizetti, organized European art music concerts, as well as the Italian opera festival in Istanbul, arranged Ottoman songs in Western harmony, introduced staff notation and hosted several well-known virtuosi in Istanbul in the context of the reformist politics of the late Ottoman Empire. See, for instance, Kavouras (1999); Economou (2015). Urban popular song was commonly historicized as the genre that typifies this notion of cosmopolitanism. The CDs were produced by the Athens-based Saraswati records named after the ancient Hindu goddess.

12 • Introduction 9 10 11 12 13 14 15 16 17 18 19 20 21

See Kaiti Kasimatis-Myrivili’s interview by Thanos Foskarinis published in Eleftherotypia newspaper, October 23, 2010. Available at www.enet.gr/?i=news.el.article&id=215861 (accessed July 27, 2016). On music, modernity and reconciliation in the New Europe see Bohlman (2013). See, for instance, Feld’s ethnography on African jazz cosmopolitanism (Feld 2012). Tsetsos used the term apoklisi (deviation) as an analytical category framing his theorization of populism and the failure of neohellenic music, as he put it, to “organically integrate” European art music tradition (Tsetsos 2011: 31). For a relevant discussion of cosmopolitan problematics in the field of rebetiko song see Tragaki (2016). On Theodorakis see Holst-Warhaft (1981). The song is available at www.youtube.com/watch?v=EvkcI1TgrlU (accessed July 11, 2016). The song is available at www.youtube.com/watch?v=F9eyFpnD9cA (accessed July 11, 2016). I owe this information to Professor John Baily (personal communication July 21, 2016). For more information on Madadi see Baily (2015: 100–115). The title theme for Z is available at www.youtube.com/watch?v=jbaS5o_yBME(accessed July 11, 2016). The YouTube video is no longer available. The recording released in 2000 featured Elinoar Moav Veniadis, Yossi Ben-Nun, Simon Wiesenthal, Nadia Weinberg, Maria Farandouri and the Israeli Philharmonic Orchestra. It is available at www.youtube.com/ watch?v=XCy8do9m6dU (accessed July 9, 2016). Musical movement, migration, cross-cultural appropriation and mass mediation are becoming popular topics for investigation among ethnomusicologists (see e.g. Dueck and Toynbee 2011).

Bibliography Baily, John. 2015. War, Exile and the Music of Afghanistan. The Ethnographer’s Tale. London, New York: Routledge. Bohlman, V. Philip. 2013. Revival and Reconciliation. Sacred Music in the Making of European Modernity. Lanham, MD: Scarecrow Press. Braidotti, Rosie. 2013. “Becoming World.” In After Cosmopolitanism, ed. Rosie Braidotti et al. London, New York: Routledge, pp. 8–27. Buchanan, Donna (ed.). 2007. Balkan Popular Culture and the Ottoman Ecumene. Music, Image and Regional Political Discourse. Lanham, MD: Scarecrow Press. Dueck, Byron and Jason Toynbee (eds). 2011. Migrating Music. London, New York: Routledge. Economou, Leonidas. 2015. Stelios Kazantzidis. Travma kai Symvoliki Therapeia sto Laiko tragoudi. Athens: Patakis. Erez, Oded. 2016. Becoming Mediterranean: Greek Popular Music and Ethno-Class Politics in Israel, 1952–1982. PhD dissertation, University of California Los Angeles. Feld, Steven. 2012. Jazz Cosmopolitanism in Accra. Five Musical Years in Ghana. Durham, NC: Duke University Press. Gaonkar, D. Parameshwar (ed.). 2001. Alternative Modernities. Durham, NC: Duke University Press. Gauntlett, Stathis. 1991. “Orpheus in the Criminal Underworld, Myth in and about Rebetika.” Mandatoforos (34): 7–48. Gourgouris, Stathis. 1996. Dream Nation. Enlightenment, Colonization and the Institution of Modern Greece. Stanford, CA: Stanford University Press. Herzfeld, Michael. 1982. Ours Once More. Folklore, Ideology, and the Making of Modern Greece. Austin: University of Texas Press. Herzfeld, Michael. 2002. “The Absent Presence. Discourses on Crypto-Colonialism.” South Atlantic Quarterly 101(4): 899–926. Hirsch, Marianne. 2008. “The Generation of Postmemory.” Poetics Today 29(1): 103–128. Holst-Warhaft, Gail. 1981.Theodorakis: Myth and Politics in Modern Greek Music. Amsterdam: Adolf M. Hakkert. Kavouras, Pavlos. 1997. “I Ennoia tou Mousikou Diktyou. Sheseis Paragogis kai Sheseis Exousias.” Proceedings of the Conference Diktya Epikoinonias kai Politismou sto Aegeo. Athens: Pnevamtiko Idryma Samou “Nikolaos Dimitriou”, pp. 39–69. Kavouras, Pavlos. 1999. “The Biography of a Folk Musician: Ethnographic Interpretation, Field Research and Fiction.” In Music of Thrace: An Interdisciplinary Approach – Evros. Athens: The Friends of Music Society – Research Programme “Thrace”, pp. 319–421. Liavas, Lambros. 2009. To Elliniko Tragoudi. Apo to 1821 os ti Dekaetia tou 1950. Athens: Emporiki Trapeza tis Ellados. Mazower, Mark. 2005. Salonica: City of Ghosts. Christians, Muslims and Jews, 1430–1950. London: Harper Perennial. Papanikolaou, Dimitris. 2013. “After THAT Dance. Translatability, Transferability, Exchangeability and Zorba’s Kazantzakis.” Presentation at the International Symposium Nikos Kazantzakis (1883–1957): The Luminous Interval. Available at www.youtube.com/watch?v=p-cX4c04Qck (accessed August 14, 2016). Pennanen, Risto Pekka. 1997. “The Development of Chordal Harmony in Greek Rebetika and Laika Music, 1930s to 1960s.” British Journal of Ethnomusicology (6): 65–116. Pennanen, Risto Pekka. 1999. Westernization and Modernization in Greek Popular Music. Tampere: University of Tampere. Pennanen, Risto Pekka. 2004. “The Nationalization of Ottoman Popular Music in Greece.” Ethnomusicology 48(1): 1–25. Politis, Alexis. 1999. I Anakalipsi ton Ellinikon Dimotikon Tragoudion. Proypotheseis, Prospatheies kai i Dimiourgia tis Protis Syllogis. Athens: Themelio.

Introduction • 13 Spinetti, Federico (ed.). 2010. Giuseppe Donizetti Pasha: Musical and Historical Trajectories between Italy and Turkey/Giuseppe Donizetti Pascià: Traiettorie musicali e storichetra Italia e Turchia. Bergamo: Fondazione Donizetti. Stokes, Martin. 2001. “Ethnomusicology (IV): Contemporary Theoretical Issues.” In The New Grove Dictionary of Music and Musicians, ed. Stanley Sadie. Grove Music On Line. Available at www.grovemusic.com/shared/ views/article.html?section=music.52178.4 (accessed July 23, 2016). Stokes, Martin. 2007. “On Musical Cosmopolitanism.” Institute for Global Citizenship. The Macalester International Roundtable 2007. Paper 3.Available at http://digitalcommons.macalester.edu/intlrdtable/3 (accessed October 17, 2016). Tragaki, Dafni. 2005. “‘Humanizing the Masses’: Enlightened Intellectuals and the Music of the People.” In The Mediterranean in Music. Critical Perspectives, Common Concerns, Cultural Differences ed. D. Cooper and K. Dawe. Lanham, MD: Scarecrow Press, pp. 49–73. Tragaki, Dafni. 2016. “Rebetiko Cosmopolitanisms: Questions for an Ethnography of Musical Imagination.” In Beyond the East–West Divide. Rethinking Balkan Music’s Poles of Attraction, ed. I. Medić and K. Tomašević. Institute of Musicology, Serbian Academy of Sciences and Arts, pp. 244–259. Tsetsos, Markos. 2011. Ethnikismos kai Laikismos sti Neoelliniki Mousiki. Politikes Opseis mias Politismikis Apoklisis. Athens: Idryma Sakis Karagiorgas. Zaimakis, Yiannis. 2009. “‘Baudy Songs and Virtuous Politics’: Ambivalence and Controversy on the Discourse of the Greek Left on Rebetiko.” History and Anthropology 20(1): 15–36. Zaimakis, Yiannis.2010. “Forbidden Fruits and the Communist Paradise: Marxist Thinking on Greekness and Class in Rebetika.” Music & Politics 4(1): 1–25.

PART

I

Hugely Popular

Preamble The topics introduced in Part I represent music phenomena occurring in diverse spheres of public culture while constituting enduring Greek musical/cultural intimacies. Stelios Kazantzidis, the saturating voice of post-civil war social trauma and precariousness mediated in laiko song, the aesthetic excessiveness of the pista cult, or Anna Vissi’s pop phantasmagoria were occasionally – and, to a certain extent, still are – criticized as “bad music” made in Greece. In the shadows of the modernist “mass culture” theory certain intellectuals and cultural elites, among others, viewed with suspicion the massiveness of such phenomena, while their most fervent critics denounced them as manifestations of social contamination, or as dangerous products of the culture industry disorienting the people from “fine music”. Up until the time of writing, research on such likewise popular music phenomena has been poorly represented in the Greek academic music department’s curricula, despite its recent embracement in departments of social anthropology, history, and social sciences. Such politics of knowledge are emblematic of the persisting epistemological aversion of the “low” also defining musical cosmologies of taste, which are, however, increasingly undermined and questioned by more recent theoretical trends, as well as, by several of the essays brought together in this volume. In Chapter 1, Economou traces the emergence of laiko song in the devastated post-civil war Greek society, the atmosphere of hatred and fear occupying the public sphere, the rapid urbanization, the rise of the Greek middle-class and the modern lifestyle, the highbrow distinction between the “urban” and the “rural”, the disaffection with the suppressive regime, and the fragility of democracy leading to the coup d’état (1967–1974). The chapter briefly contextualizes the formation of the laiko genre in the institutional framework of the Greek culture industry and the discursive constructions of the rebetiko and laiko genres. Economou suggests a taxonomy of the laiko generic genre aiming at highlighting the diverse laiko scenes and subgenres: the style developed by Vasilis Tsitsanis, the legendary rebetiko reformer, who also founded the laiko song during the 1940s; the gentrification of rebetiko and the invention of new bouzouki playing styles in Manolis Hiotis’ archontorebetiko (posh-rebetiko) that was embraced by bourgeois people; the heavy, “grieving” laiko of Stelios Kazantzidis, one of the most adored singers from the mid-1950s onward, especially among the deprived urban working class and the Greek diaspora across the world, as well as, an emblematic figure of “the aesthetics of pain” vocalizing a subaltern affective resistance against modernization; the optimistic, middle-class-oriented laiko genre represented by Panos Gavalas; the invention of hybrid genres, that of the entechno-laiko (art-popular) by scholarly composers during the 1960s, and the commercialized elafry-laiko (light-popular) song that prevailed during the dictatorship years.

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Chapter 2 deals with the phenomenon of Anna Vissi, a cross-generational diva of the pista and one of the best-selling female popular singers in Greece who gained an iconic status during the late 1980s and 1990s. Polychronakis provides an overview of the shifting musical milieus defining Anna Vissi’s career, from entechno to elafro-laiko (light-popular song) and pop song to the Eurovision stage in 2004, her contribution in setting new trends merging “East” and “West”, which are here broadly contextualized in the post-1974 Greek entertainment culture and music industry’s developments. The reactions of certain elite musical circles against Vissi’s breaking away from the “art-popular” scene was indicative of the polarized discourse defining the post-Junta disapproval of “commercialized” popular song. The “Vissi phenomenon” and its ubiquity in the public sphere from the 1980s up until the mid-2000s is further explored in the framework of Greece’s Europeanization politics and the emergence of the local nouveaux-riches late capitalist luxurious pista entertainment practices, the lifestyle promoted by the private TV channels launched in the early 1990s hosting prime-time shows with musical celebrities. The massive success of pista culture associated with Vissi redefined, for Polychronakis, Easterness, while it provided the musical response to the East–West cultural and political merging reflecting Greek “modernization” during the 1990s. Vissi’s booming cultural capital not only manifested but also constituted the social dynamics enacted in the pista experience. Polychronakis stresses that despite relatively unproductive efforts to internationalize her career, especially through her Eurovision 2004 participation, Vissi remained a national cosmopolitan diva whose “cosmopolitanism is made in and for Greece”. By localizing cosmopolitan trends, she resignified Greekness and the national imaginary of contemporary Greece. Bouzoukia staged performances were the precursors of urban “live music” entertainment discussed by Tsioulakis in Chapter 3. Based on extended ethnographic research, Tsioulakis focuses on the analysis of the shift from the participatory modality of the Athenian nightclub’s clientele towards a spectator mentality that is, as he argues, “a complex process entailing cultural politics, economic considerations, labor relationships, embodied subjectivities, and identity claims coming from a variety of competing social actors, including pop-singers, instrumentalists, entrepreneurs, and fans”. Whereas up until the 1990s “ola ta mora stin pista!” (all babes on the stage) was often the standard phrase signaling the provocatively sexualized female stage dancing, this reciprocal performative practice that could transform the on-stage power otherwise monopolized by the singer was recently abandoned and limited in the context of the “second program”, the side-show supporting the headliner’s core program. Stage policing was instrumental, among other changes in the entertainment culture, in the reconfiguration of the performance space, as Tsioulakis shows, further spectacularizing the pista (stage) enforcing neoliberal strategies that amplified the singer’s authority and marketability in the music industry. Such transformations within the performative event, Tsioulakis concludes, manifested the impact of neoliberal worldviews upon the pista experience, producing new forms of idol–fan relationships, privileging distance and mediatized representations over unmediated interactive experience.

1 Sentiment, Memory, and Identity in Greek Laiko Music (1945–1967) Leonidas Economou

The history of Greek popular music after 1945 is virtually unknown territory for scholarly research, and has often been heavily distorted by researchers of rebetiko. The myth of rebetiko functioned as a mechanism of social distinction and exclusion, which devalued most of the musical forms and practices that coexisted with it, or appeared following its alleged disappearance at the beginning of the 1950s (Economou 2005). I will try to correct this picture and to map this unexplored territory for the period 1945 to 1967. I will begin with a discussion of the emergence of laiko traghoudi (popular song), the new genre of bouzouki music which succeeded rebetiko.1 Most researchers posit the beginning of laiko in the mid-1950s following the periodization of rebetologists. This perspective contradicts the contemporary discourse of musicians and critics as well as other historical evidence showing that the transformation of rebetiko into laiko took place during the 1940s (Michael 1996). I will begin my narrative at the end of the war in 1945 and I will examine the different styles of laiko that developed up until 1967, when the establishment of the dictatorship marked the beginning of a new historical period. The laiko genre is a broad and complex category that should not be conceived of in terms of certain essentialist characteristics, but rather as a kind of scene, which is defined, differentiated and transformed in terms of changing social practices, spaces, and representations. The deciphering of musical tendencies and styles cannot be solely based on aesthetic considerations, but needs to take into account the contextualization, reception, and use of the songs in different social milieus. Musicians and listeners participate in the social and cultural dynamic of their time, and they negotiate in subtle but discernible ways their position in respect to the major social issues and conflicts of their time (Stokes 1997, 2010; Lohman 2010). I will try to describe and understand the major subdivisions of the laiko scene by taking into account all the different aspects of musical performances, and especially the major aesthetic, political, and cultural issues that were involved in the experience of music. In this way, I hope to shed some light not only on the persons, the works, and the events of laiko music, but also on their complex associations with particular social sentiments and identities. A Short Introduction to the Postwar Years (1945–1967) Greek society emerged deeply scarred from the war period. The harsh occupation (1941–1944), the strong resistance movement, the brutal reprisals of the conquerors, and the atrocious civil war that followed (1947–1949) had caused immense catastrophe and pain. Human losses reached 7 to 8 percent of the population, the economy was ruined, and thousands of people had

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experienced violence, terror, and death. The civil war in particular had devastating effects not only upon human lives and material resources, but also upon the fabric of social life, which was heavily disrupted and blighted. After the war, the ruling elites and the protective power established an oppressive regime of “limited democracy”, which aimed, on the one hand, at the control of the population, and on the other, at the realization of reforms that would lead to the development of the market economy. A configuration of power structures and institutional mechanisms repressed, excluded, or persecuted the enemies of the regime, and intervened at times of crisis. The economy began to grow quickly from the early 1950s. The growth rate of the Greek economy between 1950 and 1961 reached 5.5 percent and was one of the biggest in the world. The distribution of new income, however, was very unequal. The new economic elites, who were heavily dependent on state favors, and some social and professional groups began to benefit from growth. At the same time there was major unemployment and underemployment, and the majority of the lower and middle classes struggled to survive. This provoked the greatest immigration wave in recent Greek history, as between 1955 and 1970 more than 900.000 people moved to other countries for economic reasons. The first post-civil war years (1950–1955) emerge from many descriptions as a bleak period. The signs of devastation were still visible in the social landscape, and a diffuse melancholy spread through the country. An atmosphere of hatred, fear, and suspicion permeated public life, policing civil society and impelling people to retire into themselves. At the same time, however, a process of rapid urbanization and modernization changed the face of the country. A generalized desire for economic progress and improvement, coupled with an eagerness for hard work and thrift, a disdain for rural and traditional ideas and values, and an eager embracing of many aspects of modernity contributed to the growth of the economy and set in motion powerful processes of social and cultural change. The accumulated disaffection and distress about the oppressive political and economic regime was actively expressed from the late 1950s, and it created a strong and multifarious political and cultural movement, demanding political democratization, economic equity, and cultural renewal. The government of the center, which was triumphantly elected on this agenda in 1964, was overturned by the king and the deep state. The political instability and conflict that inevitably followed led eventually to the dictatorship of the Colonels (April 1967 to July 1974). At the same time the economy continued to grow quickly and the processes of social and cultural modernization accelerated. The middle classes expanded, and larger sections of the population experienced economic improvement. The level of consumption increased, and modern lifestyles became more widely disseminated. The traditional ideals of family, community, gender, and love were more radically questioned, and modern individualistic practices became more common and accepted. The Institutional Context of Popular Music The production, distribution, and consumption of popular music were shaped in new ways following the war. A cultural industry (situated almost exclusively in Athens) was gradually created through the progressive modernization, development, and interconnection of record, radio, film, press, and entertainment industries and networks. The pre-existing record companies were consolidated during the 1940s into two groups (Columbia – His Master’s Voice and Odeon – Parlophone), which acted as representatives of international firms and local

Greek Laiko Music (1945–1967) • 19

entrepreneurs of Greek music. The record firms developed and modernized (especially after the introduction of 45 rpm discs in 1959, which was followed by a huge increase in record sales) and became the center of a local musical star system. The influence of state-controlled radio (established in 1938) increased considerably following the war. The radio network expanded, reaching every part of the country, and differentiated, attempting to address every section of the population. A number of popular channels allotted considerable time to popular music (contributing to its becoming some sort of national music) and played an important role in its overall development and evaluation. From 1955, the record firms were allotted specific time slots to advertise their songs and artists, and created highly influential daily programs. Another important channel for the promotion of popular music was the press, and especially, the very popular weekly magazines, which covered systematically the field of popular music, and devoted many pages, and often their covers, to relevant news, interviews, images, and articles. The revue theater, which was one of the main sites of production and dissemination of popular music in the interwar years, remained relatively important, but it was superseded in popularity and influence by cinema. A local film industry, which was created during the 1950s and which thrived during the 1960s, managed to produce an impressive number of films and to attract a significant number of film spectators. Popular music is related in many ways to the Greek cinema of the time. Most films included scenes of musical entertainment and performances of popular songs by well-known artists, and they were an important medium for their dissemination. At the same time it formed a new scene of commercial musical entertainment, comprising various kinds of tavernas and nightclubs, and various styles of music, commensality, and revelry. The musical nightclubs, which were the main sites for the performance of popular music by famous artists, multiplied, modernized their programs, and attracted large audiences. The Emergence of Laiko Song The elaphro (light) or evropaiko (European) song – Western-style song with Greek lyrics – was before the war the only genre of popular music to be accepted by the state and the middle classes. The genre virtually monopolized the space allotted to Greek popular music on the radio, in the revue theater, and in the cinema, and it had a broad audience among all social strata. Rebetiko, which became very popular in the 1930s among the refugees and the working classes, was scorned and stigmatized by both the establishment and the Communist Party, which regarded it as a corrupt and decadent product of the urban underworld and an undesirable residue of the Ottoman period (Gauntlett 1991; Zaimakis 2010). The upheavals of the war changed this musical landscape. Elaphro lost much of its creative strength and appeal, whereas rebetiko (which was transformed during this time into laiko) produced some of the most emblematic popular songs of the period and became very popular among wider social strata. The ability of laiko to express the turbulent times, and the weakening of social and cultural barriers during the war, contributed to its wider dissemination and helped it acquire a new enhanced social and cultural status (Holst-Warhaft 2002b: 312). Vasilis Tsitsanis, Yiannis Papaioannou, Apostolos Kaldaras, and other important musicians who appeared on the musical scene in the late 1930s and the 1940s are credited (by contemporary and subsequent commentators and researchers) for detaching rebetiko from the underworld of the manges 2 (which was its initial point of reference) and transforming it into laiko: a broader kind of song expressing the concerns and sensibilities of the people. Tsitsanis had already been

20 • Leonidas Economou

praised in the late 1940s for being the protagonist of this transformation, and he gladly accepted the credit for the “ennoblement” and the “Westernization” of bouzouki-style music (Gauntlett 1975/1976; Michael 1996). From the early 1940s Tsitsanis used almost exclusively the term laiko to designate his music and to advertise his performances. In a 1951 interview he distanced himself from rebetiko, called himself a “laiko composer”, and presented himself as a conscious reformer of popular music, who eliminated the undesirable Eastern elements and gave it musical and poetic depth. The ennoblement of rebetiko required its renaming. Contrary to the word rebetiko, which still had strong negative connotations, the new term was used in folklore studies and political rhetoric, and gave to the music of bouzouki a new credibility and respectability. The musicians, the cultural industry, and the musical press adopted the new term from the mid-1940s and distanced themselves rhetorically from rebetiko. Friendly critics and commentators argued for the renaming of the music of bouzouki, or used both terms combined or interchangeably. A similar evolution took place in the national press, and within a few years the term laiko had completely replaced rebetiko as a designation for the music of bouzouki. The transformation and renaming of rebetiko was connected with broader changes in social ideology and state policy concerning popular music (Gauntlett 1991; Tragaki 2005; Zaimakis 2010). Compelled by new ideological needs during the civil war, radio and other state institutions relaxed the total prohibition of bouzouki and laiko. At the same time, a number of influential intellectuals (associated with the bourgeois camp) began to question the rejection of rebetiko, and the whole edifice of musical and artistic evaluation. The composer Manos Hadjidakis, in his famous 1949 lecture, attacked both the attachment to an extinct past (represented by the idealization of folk music) and what he saw as the shallow imitation of Western music (represented by elaphro). Rebetiko, on the other hand, was presented as a form of popular (laiko) music associated with Byzantine chant and folk music, and it was regarded as the raw material for the construction of a more authentic and pragmatic version of popular music and national identity. A similar change of view is evident in the Left. The total rejection of rebetiko was moderated, due in part to the great popularity of the songs of Tsitsanis among party members and friends, and a heated debate on rebetiko-laiko took place between 1945 and 1965 among left-wing intellectuals. The voices defending rebetiko-laiko multiplied, and it was gradually recognized as a musical style with deeply traditional and popular (laiko) traits and dispositions that could form the basis for the reformation of Greek popular music. In what follows I propose a classification of the scene of laiko, which takes into account all aspects of musical production and performance, and examines carefully the way the major laiko creators negotiated their stance towards the turbulent and conflicting world that surrounded them. A number of issues – including the political division between the bourgeois forces and the Left, the response to the trauma of the civil war, the cultural orientation between the West and the East, and the redefinition of the character of laiko under the new conditions of greater dissemination and commoditization – were important concerns for both the artists and the audience, and constituted critical points around which musicians and listeners positioned themselves and created the musical styles of the time. The Tsitsanis Style Vasilis Tsitsanis (1917–1983) was born in Trikala. Despite the fact that he finished high school, he became a professional musician and made his first record hits in the late 1930s. During the 1940s he composed and recorded a large number of hits that established him as the leading

Greek Laiko Music (1945–1967) • 21

laiko musician. Tsitsanis created his own version of laiko, and invented a complex way between the East and the West, the Left and the Right, the acknowledgment and the silencing of the wounds of the recent past. The common view that he abandoned the dromoi 3 and contributed to the spread of functional harmony is rather simplistic, and obscures the variety of his work and the continuities with the tradition of rebetiko (Pennanen 1997: 68). In his own way Tsitsanis blended the tradition of rebetiko with Western popular music, avoiding both the daring innovations and the marked Westernization (introduced by composers like Hiotis), and the influences from smyrneiko 4 and Middle Eastern music, which were becoming fashionable again. Apart from his Western-style songs, Tsitsanis composed numerous songs with marked oriental features, including some grieving and Indian-style laika (Pennanen 1997: 70–71), visited and performed in Istanbul, and included Turkish songs in Turkish in his nightclub performances. Tsitsanis managed to meander within the tensions of turbulent times and civil strife, winning the sympathy (and perhaps the wrath) of all political factions. He composed songs expressing sympathy for the Left, and songs dedicated to the fighters of the national army. More importantly, he composed some of the most emblematic songs of the period, which expressed in an allegorical language the ordeals of the civil war and the plight of the people, and were sung by both sides of the conflict. Tsitsanis rejected the attachment to the traumatic past and the discourse of pain (that prevailed in another part of laiko), and articulated a message of patience, courage, and hope that could be read from both political perspectives. The composer played a leading role in the ennoblement of rebetiko without completely losing his references to the popular strata and the world of the manges. He performed in the first highclass nightclubs and adapted, to some extent, his performance style to the new trends and audiences. He was the first to include women singers in his orchestra and he allowed the singer Marika Ninou to perform standing (a daring innovation of the time), but, apart from this and a few other exceptions, he never abandoned the traditional arrangement (according to which the whole group performs seated on a small podium called palko), and resisted the transformation of performance into some kind of musical show. He never deviated from the traditional threecourse bouzouki, he never wore a tie, and he continued to compose songs for the manges, including a number of hashish songs, which were detested by the Left and adored by some government supporters, and were recorded during a short and inexplicable break of censorship in 1946. During the same period he composed numerous exotic, dreamlike songs, expressing a desire to escape from the depressing reality to an idealized and sexualized Orient, as well as many hits that echoed the carefree and optimistic mood of archontorebetiko. The influence of Tsitsanis was immense, and his style prevailed up until the mid-1950s. Many important composers of the time (Yiannis Papaioannou, Apostolos Kaldaras, Giorgos Mitsakis, Kostas Kaplanis) were influenced by him or followed parallel trajectories, and they are viewed as co-founders of the 1940s laiko. Archontorebetiko and Manolis Hiotis Over the same years it developed a different, more radical trend of ennoblement and modernization of rebetiko-laiko, aiming at its transformation into a genre suitable for the general public and the middle classes. One of the most important expressions of this tendency was archontorebetiko (gentry or posh rebetiko), a new genre created in the musical theater in the late 1940s and which remained popular up until the late 1950s (Tsambras 2005). Michalis Sogioul (one of the most important composers of elaphro) gave into the insistent suggestions of Alekos

22 • Leonidas Economou

Sakelarios (playwright, scriptwriter, director, and lyricist) and composed a song in rebetiko style for a successful 1947 play. The song “To Tram to Telefteo” (The last tramway) was an instant success and initiated a new trend. Over the following years, many important creators of elaphro, as well as some laiko musicians, contributed to the genre. The melodies and rhythms of the songs were reminiscent of rebetiko-laiko, and the texts were written in the language of the people, but they were performed by orchestras with Western instruments and sung by leading singers of elaphro. Most songs are in the dance rhythm of chasapiko, which is more compatible with functional harmonization (Pennanen 1997: 96), and reflect a joyful and often humorous mood. Over the following years they were performed by mixed orchestras (including bouzouki), or by laiko groups. Their success was so great that some archontorebetika were included in the performances of laiko musicians and were recorded by leading laiko orchestras and singers (including Vasilis Tsitsanis, Giorgos Mitsakis, Marika Ninou, and Prodromos Tsaousakis). Archontorebetiko emerged from a part of the cultural system associated with the political establishment, and expressed the optimistic, forgetful, and acquiescent vision of the winners. The aim of the songs, according to Sakelarios, was to cheer up and infuse optimism into the tormented people of postwar Greece, and to help them forget their traumatic memories. Most archontorebetika were love songs and many depicted scenes of revelry and fun. The texts, which were obviously addressed to the working classes, recognize their poverty, their hard life, and their problems, but adopted an attitude of patience, courage, and hope. The diffuse social suffering and the political turmoil were almost completely eliminated, and it articulated a message of oblivion and return to normality which was warmly received by large sections of the public. The modernization and ennoblement of rebetiko – beyond the limits set by Tsitsanis – was also advanced by some laiko musicians and especially by the charismatic bouzouki player and composer Manolis Hiotis (1921–1970). Hiotis grew up in the world of the manges in Thessaloniki and Nafplio. He took lessons in both rebetiko and Western music, and showed his musical genius from an early age. He appeared on the Athenian musical scene and made his first recordings in the late 1930s. He continued his musical education in Athens next to Stephanos Spitambelos, one of the first musicians who blended rebetiko with Western music, performed for upper-class audiences, and created a hybrid instrument combining the bouzouki and the guitar. From early on in his career, Hiotis conceived of and tried to implement a vision of modernization of rebetiko, and he is generally recognized as the musician who contributed more than anyone else to the dissemination of the bouzouki music to the bourgeois classes. According to narratives of fellow musicians, Hiotis wanted to be “modern” and to differ from other musicians, and he never ceased to innovate in order to renew and transform the music of bouzouki and expand its audience. He began, from at least the mid-1940s, to create different fusions of rebetiko with various kinds of Western and international popular music, to cooperate with musicians and lyricists of elaphro, and to experiment in order to extend the musical capabilities of bouzouki. He became one of the most preferred musicians of radio, and he was one of the first bouzouki players to appear in popular cinema (1948). He also organized the program and performed in the first truly high-class nightclubs with laiko music (1947–1948), in which he introduced important innovations borrowed from Western-style clubs and orchestras. His 1946 song “O pasatebos” (The pastime) is considered to be an early example of archontorebetiko. Numerous other songs from this period may also be seen as belonging to the

Greek Laiko Music (1945–1967) • 23

genre, and we can already discern in some of them his distinctive compositional and performing style (Pennanen 1997: 89, 93–95). Hiotis continued, during the same period and through the 1950s, to compose songs in all the popular styles of laiko, making numerous hits with many leading singers of the time (Takis Binis, Stella Chaskil, Stelios Kazantzidis, Keti Grei), and he was highly respected by rebetiko and laiko musicians for both his musical talent and his character. One of his most important innovations was the introduction, from the mid-1950s, of the four-course bouzouki. Hiotis was not the first to try to create a combination of bouzouki and guitar, but he contributed to the perfection of the new instrument and, perhaps more importantly, he managed to impose it upon the scene of laiko. The new instrument caused many reactions, partly summarized in the words of the singer Takis Binis, who felt that his manhood was insulted and that he was losing his mangia (the quality of being a mangas) (Kleiasiou 2004: 239). The four-course bouzouki prevailed almost completely over the following years and changed in important ways the sound and the structure of laiko. His career peaked in the period 1958 to 1965 when he formed a duet with his new wife, the singer Meri Linda. They made many hits with his fusion songs in various jazz and Latin rhythms, appeared in dozens of theater productions and films, and performed in aristocratic nightclubs, in which the bouzouki entered for the first time. They adopted the standing, theatrical performance of the elaphro singers, and embellished the program with comical sketches and dance routines. Stelios Kazantzidis and the “Heavy” or “Grieving” Laiko During these years (the second half of the 1940s), a new kind of sorrowful song appeared, expressing the harsh experiences and the social suffering of the people and especially the poor. During the 1950s and 1960s most representatives of this genre were thought to belong in the category of vari laiko (heavy laiko) (Geramanis 2007: 49). The new style was later called “postcivil war” (Georgiadis and Rachmatoulina 2003) or “black” laiko (Alexatos 2006), and I will also use the term “grieving” laiko, which is sometimes used by Kazantzidis. The repertory of some of the most popular laiko singers of the late 1940s (Sotiria Belou, Prodromos Tsaousakis, Takis Binis, Stella Chaskil) includes an important number of sorrowful protesting songs, created by new musicians like Bambis Bakalis, Gerasimos Klouvatos, Stelios Chrysinis, and Theodoros Derveniotis, as well as by composers usually associated with the Tsitsanis-style laiko, such as Yiannis Papaioannou, Giorgos Mitsakis, and Apostolos Chatzichristos. The texts (most of which appeared as creations of the composers themselves) focused on the ordeals, the tragedies, and the landscape of catastrophe and fear, provoked by the war and civil strife, and constituted a new poetic language which was developed and enriched by a new generation of professional lyricists (Kostas Virvos, Christos Kolokotronis, Eftichia Papagiannopoulou, and Charalambos Vasiliadis). This poetic genre may be described as an idiom of grief for trauma, oppression, and social injustice, and incorporates elements of Greek and Middle Eastern folk tradition together with popular and modern ideas and themes. The discourse of pain was musically “dressed” in different ways, but it progressively prevailed a style that was inspired and fertilized by the musical tradition of the East. Most post-civil war laika are slow zeibekika.5 Their melodies are based on sorrowful makam/dromoi (like sabah and kastigiar), and they are non-functionally harmonized (Pennanen 1997: 111). According to the composer Theodoros Derveniotis, the musicians of the time chose these melodic formulae because they could express great intensities of pain and were suitable for the sad lyrics (Georgiadis

24 • Leonidas Economou

and Rachmatoulina 2003: 103). The first songs in the new style were performed by the abovementioned popular singers, for whom we can say, in a rather schematic way, that they had unadorned vocal styles which retained some of the roughness and the controlled sentimentality of rebetiko (Manuel 1988: 133). The new style, however, found its ideal expression in a new generation of singers (Stelios Kazantzidis, Vangelis Perpiniadis, Manolis Angelopoulos, Keti Grey, Poli Panou, and Yiota Lydia), who became famous during the 1950s by singing the grieving songs with highly expressive and ornamented vocal styles.6 The singers became very popular and overshadowed composers who were up until this time the most respected and known artists of laiko. Stelios Kazantzidis (1931–2001), in particular, acquired extraordinary popularity after 1955 and became the most influential musician of laiko until his early retirement in 1965. He recorded hundreds of songs, performed with spectacular success in nightclubs and at concerts, and acquired the status of a social hero. Kazantzidis managed to strike a deep chord in the hearts of the people. He was extremely popular among the lower strata of the city and the country, was adored by the refugee populations from Turkey, and managed to create a strong emotional and symbolic bond with a large proportion of his listeners. The singer, who had traumatic experiences of political violence and terror during the civil war, and who was tormented and incarcerated during his military service (1953–1954), became the ideal personification of the discourse of grief. The grieving laiko became an idiom for the understanding and expression of his experiences, and he contributed to its shaping and success. As his popularity rose, the most important laiko composers and lyricists created songs that fitted his preferences for oriental melodies and sad, protesting lyrics, and his style became widely disseminated. As we approach the end of the 1950s, leaving behind the sinister atmosphere and the extreme deprivation of the first post-civil war years, the character of laiko changes again. A new wave of orientalization of Greek popular music began in the late 1950s and for a number of years (1959–1965) the laiko scene was dominated by fusions of laiko and Indian popular music (Ambatzi and Tasoulas n.d.). This musical trend was an offshoot of the success of Indian musical films in Greece (1954–1965). The melodramatic stories and the cultural universe of these films touched many of the popular classes, who filled the cinemas in order to grieve for their problems and pain. The laiko musicians took notice of this new trend and started producing songs influenced by the music, and sometimes the themes, of the Indian films. Some of the original compositions were simply converted into the idiom of laiko. In other cases, composers borrowed only certain elements from the initial songs, or created original compositions in the new style. The Greek musicians incorporated and adapted various elements from the Indian songs, and produced many great hits, which are considered part of the classic repertory of laiko.7 During the same period, the laiko incorporated new influences from Turkish, Arabic, and Greek gypsy music, as well as from folk songs, and discarded some of the despair and social conservatism of the previous years. Many songs continued to address sociopolitical issues (especially immigration), but romantic themes prevailed, and a new, more gratified, complacent, and reveling mood emerged progressively. The grieving laiko had many different expressions. Stelios Kazantzidis was by far the most commercial and influential singer of the period. Some of his most important rivals (like Manolis Angelopoulos and Vangelis Perpiniadis), and some of the most successful female singers (like Keti Grei and Giota Lydia) shared many of his aesthetic ideas and had similar sensitivities. Kazantzidis defined laiko as the song of pain and constructed his style based on an “aesthetics of pain”, drawn from ritual lament and oriental ideas of pain and virtue (Vasilikos 1978: 16;

Greek Laiko Music (1945–1967) • 25

Caraveli 1986). The singer created a ritual art of symbolic healing and protest, which responded to the accumulated social suffering of large sections of the Greek people. His songs, and more generally the grieving laiko, became the main public outlet for the articulation and recounting of experiences silenced by the official narratives of both the state and the Left. His songs helped his listeners to do the work of pain for past traumas and present sufferings, and offered a language for their understanding. Stelios Kazantzidis strongly disliked rebetiko and the world of the manges (for its immorality and violence), as well as the ennoblement of laiko and its transformation into a song for the entertainment of the middle classes. He always highlighted his working-class identity, and his songs were aimed almost exclusively at the expression of the experiences, the problems and the ideas of the poor. The singer tried – to some extent at least – to create a cheap, “decent”, and “constructive” form of musical entertainment for the working classes, and abandoned nightclub performances when the mode of entertainment and the cravings of the customers changed. Kazantzidis developed a subversive and at the same time traditionalist discourse. He sang for the rights of the poor and tormented at a time of political oppression and fear, and at the same time appeared as a good, traditional lad expressing commonly held views and values. The singer articulated a critique of contemporary society from a pre-capitalist and semireligious standpoint and castigated what he saw as the generalized moral and social decay, the prevalence of hatred, injustice, and self-interest, and the disappearance of sensitivity, compassion, and honesty. He was more associated with the Left, but his message had strong moral and metaphysical undertones, and exceeded political divisions. The singer stressed in many ways his adherence to traditional morals and values, his suspicion of many modern ideas and practices, and his disappointment with modern Greeks. Stelios Kazantzidis played a leading role in the orientalization of laiko after the war, and stressed in many ways his Eastern cultural and musical roots, and the attraction he felt for Turkish and Arabic music. The singer exerted enormous influence and he is perhaps justifiably regarded as a leading figure of a subaltern cultural movement reacting to Westernization and demanding the retention of the oriental elements of Greek culture (Economou 2005: 379). On the other hand, during the 1960s, some successful singers of heavy laiko developed a repertory and a performance style more attuned to the improved economic conditions and to the growing appeal of bouzouki music to the middle classes. Panos Gavalas recorded many hits during the 1960s and formed his own faithful audience. His repertory contained many sorrowful protesting songs, but he mostly became famous for his romantic, sensual, and reveling love songs. Panos Gavalas and Poli Panou (who had a similar profile) represented a more open and optimistic version of popular identity, and a more eager embracement of the changing times and mores. As the decade unfolded, the mood of laiko became more cheerful and light-hearted, and nightclub entertainment was transformed into a musical show and a form of frenetic entertainment. The seated performance on the palko was abandoned, and the program (which was carefully arranged by leading musicians and choreographers) as well as the performance of the singers incorporated theatrical elements. The singers performed not only with their voices but also with the construction of their appearance and the movements of their bodies, which became an important aspect of their allure. Whiskey replaced traditional drinks, and a number of practices of competitive consumption (e.g. the blowing of balloons, the breaking of plates, the burning of whisky, the throwing of flowers) became institutionalized. As the 1960s unfolded, the emergence and great success of the new style of entechno laiko,8 the progressive modernization of ideas and styles, and the fluctuations of the political situation

26 • Leonidas Economou

transformed the scene of laiko in important ways that can be only mentioned here owing to lack of space. New forms of laiko, influenced from the aesthetics of entechno, like the work of Giorgos Zabetas and Apostolos Kaldaras, or from elapho tragoudi and international popular music, like the work of Giorgos Katsaros and Mimis Plessas, became very popular, and new stars emerged, such as Grigoris Bithikotsis, Viky Moscholiou, Tolis Voskopoulos, and Litsa Diamanti. Most artists of heavy laiko were pushed to the margins of the cultural industry wherefrom it appeared in the late 1960s the new and subsequently very successful style of skyladiko. Notes 1

2 3 4 5 6

7

8

Various references to laiko are found in Holst (1983; Holst-Warhaft 2002a), Manuel (1988), and other researchers of rebetiko. Gauntlett (1975/1976, 1991), and Michael (1996) focused on the emergence and the semantic history of laiko, whereas Pennanen (1997) examined its musicological features. His work is extremely valuable, but its strictly musicological character precludes him from discerning the various sub-genres of laiko and exploring their meaning. Manges (pl. mangas) refers to the style, the concept of manhood, and the worldview of the “bohemian vagrants, petty criminals, addicts, and unemployed or underemployed ‘street people’” (Manuel 1988: 127), who were associated with rebetiko. Dromos (road) (pl. dromoi) is the Greek translation of the makam: the system of melodic formulae and compositional and performance principles on which Ottoman and Middle Eastern music is based. A style of Greek-Ottoman music which was fashionable in the 1920s and 1930s (Pennanen 2004). Zeibekiko is one of the main dances of rebetiko-laiko. It is a highly emotional improvisational dance, performed, during these years, almost exclusively by a solo male dancer. Sometimes it is difficult to differentiate between some songs of Vasilis Tsitsanis and the grieving laiko of the 1940s. The song “Kapia Mana Anastenazi” (A Mother Sighs), one of the most popular and politically charged songs of the civil war period, is a good example, as it was created by Tsitsanis in collaboration with Bambis Bakalis (one of the most important composers of grieving laiko). The musical and poetic specificity of the grieving laiko was recognized, however, by the musicians of the time, who distinguished between the School of Tsitsanis and the new style (Virvos 1985; Georgiadis and Rachmatoulina 2003). According to Virvos, Tsitsanis disliked both the Eastern melodies and the pessimistic texts of black laika, calling them “death-like” songs, and referred those who gave him sad and tragic texts to Bakalis. Pennanen (1996), based on a strictly musicological analysis, discerns the songs of grieving laiko and maintains that they represent one of the three main trends of postwar laiko. The oriental songs, which were contemptuously called “Indian”, “Indian-style”, or “Turkish-gypsy”, generated much criticism, and their creators were accused of adulterating Greek popular music and corrupting the taste of the people. Sometimes the critique was extended to the whole production of grieving laiko. Some composers (e.g. Theodoros Derveniotis and Apostolos Kaldaras) refuted the accusations and insisted that they were influenced by Byzantine music. Others defended the right to draw elements and inspiration from the East and pointed critically to the sweeping Westernization of Greek music and culture. See Ambatzi and Tasoulas (n.d.: 69); Virvos (1985: 135), and Economou (2005: 375). Entechno-laiko was formed by composers with a Western education, especially Manos Hadzidakis and Mikis Theodorakis, who combined elements of high and popular art in order to create a new form of popular music that would contribute to the elevation of the people (Holst-Warhaft 2002a, 2002b; Tragaki 2005). They had many followers who produced different and highly successful versions of it.

Bibliography Alexatos, Giorgos. 2006. To Tragoudi ton Ittimenon, Koinonikes Antitheseis kai Laiko Tragoudi stin Metapolemiki Ellada. Thessaloniki: Geitonies tou Kosmou. Ambatzi, Eleni and Manouil Tasoulas. n.d. Indoprepon Apokalipsi. Apo tin India tou Exotismou stin Laiki Mousa ton Ellinon. Athens: Atrapos. Caraveli, Anna. 1986. “The Bitter Wounding: The Lament as Social Protest in Rural Greece.” In Gender and Power in Rural Greece, ed. Jill Dubisch. Princeton, NJ: Princeton University Press, pp. 169–194. Economou, Leonidas. 2005. “Rebetika, laika and skyladika: oria kai metatopiseis stin proslipsi tis laikis mousikis.” Dokimes 13–14: 361–398. Gauntlett, Stathis. 1975/1976. “Mia anekdoti sinentefksi me ton Vasili Tsitsani.” Antipodes 4(5): 7–13. Gauntlett, Stathis. 1991. “Orpheus in the Criminal Underworld: Myth in and about Rebetika.” Mandatoforos 34: 7–48. Georgiadis, Nearchos and Tania Rachmatoulina. 2003. Theodoros Derveniotis and the Post-Civil War Song. Athens: Synchroni Epochi.

Greek Laiko Music (1945–1967) • 27 Geramanis, Panos. 2007. I Zoi mou Ena Tragoudi, ed. Vasilis Loumbrinis. Athens: Kastaniotis. Holst, Gail. 1983. Road to Rembetika: Music of a Greek Sub-Culture. Songs of Love, Sorrow and Hashish. Athens: Denise Harvey & Co. Holst-Warhaft, Gail. 2002a. “The Tame Sow and the Wild Boar. Hybridization and the Rebetika.” In Songs of the Minotaur: Hybridity and Popular Music in the Era of Globalization, ed. G. Steingress. Munster, Hamburg, and London: LIT Verlag, pp. 21–50. Holst-Warhaft, Gail. 2002b. “Politics and Popular Music in Modern Greece.” Journal of Political and Military Sociology 30(2): 297–323. Kleiasiou, Ioanna. 2004. Takis Binis, Vios Rebetikos. Athens: Defi. Lohman, Laura. 2010. Umm Kulthum. Artistic Agency and the Shaping of an Arab Legend, 1967–2007. Middletown CT: Wesleyan University Press. Manuel, Peter. 1988. Popular Music of the Non-Western World: An Introductory Survey. New York and Oxford: Oxford University Press. Michael, Despoina. 1996. “Tsitsanis and the Birth of the ‘New’ Laiko Tragoudi.” Modern Greek Studies (Australia and New Zealand), 4: 55–96. Pennanen, R.P. 1997. “The Development of Chordal Harmony in Greek Rebetiko and Laika Music, 1930s to 1960s.” British Journal of Ethnomusicology 6: 65–116. Pennanen, R.P. 2004. “The Nationalization of Ottoman Popular Music in Greece.” Ethnomusicology 48(1):1–25. Stokes, Martin. 1997. “Voices and Places: History, Repetition and the Musical Imagination.” The Journal of the Royal Anthropological Institute 3(4): 673–691. Stokes, Martin. 2010. The Republic of Love. Cultural Intimacy in Turkish Popular Music. Chicago, IL, and London: The University of Chicago Press. Tragaki, Dafni. 2005. “‘Humanizing the Masses’. Enlightened Intellectuals and the Music of the People.” In The Mediterranean in Music: Critical Perspectives, Common Concerns, Cultural Differences, ed. David Cooper and Kevin Dawe. Oxford: Lanham, Maryland, pp. 49–75. Tsambras, Giorgos. 2005. Michalis Sogioul – As Erchosoun gia Ligo. Athens: Agira. Vasilikos, Vasilis. 1978. I Zoi mou Oli Stelios Kazantzidis. Athens: Filippotis. Virvos, Kostas. 1985. Mia Zoi Tragoudia Aftoviographia. Athens: Defi. Zaimakis, Y. 2010. “‘Forbidden Fruits’ and the Communist Paradise: Marxist Thinking on Greekness and Class in Rebetika.” Music & Politics 4(1): 1–25.

2 Anna Vissi Singing Greece’s Contemporary Socio-Cultural History Ioannis Polychronakis

One of the most discussed characteristics of Greek popular music is its diversity. It is usually analyzed in conjunction with Greece’s geopolitical position between the East and the West (see, e.g., Dawe 2009: 249–250; Papageorgiou 1997: 67–87), or is viewed as a result of the various distinct music traditions within Greece’s national borders (see, e.g., Kallimopoulou 2009; Dawe 2007; Tragaki 2007; Holst-Warhaft 1992). The diversity of Greek music is also examined along a historical axis connecting Greece’s antiquity and modernity through the Byzantine era. Two characteristic examples of how Greece’s history has inspired the production of contemporary popular music are Essetai Imar (The Day Will Come), a hip-hop album with themes, lyrics, and instruments related to ancient Greece, which was released in 2001 by local group Terror X Crew, and the interval act of the 2006 Eurovision Song Contest, which took place in Athens, entitled “4,000 Years of Greek Song”. Greece’s perceived cultural continuity, as well as the musical diversity that such continuity may encompass, have sustained a debate which at times has been intense (Holst-Warhaft 1997: 232).1 The reason for this is that such a debate is ultimately related to the ontology of Greek national identity, the stereotypes surrounding it, and the impact of globalization upon Greek culture in recent decades. At the heart of such a debate regarding the diversity of music, culture, and identities in contemporary Greece, one artist is to be found time and again. Her name is Anna Vissi. On a relevant note, Kevin Dawe has said about her album in 2000, entitled Kravgi (Shout): “Greek clarinet, sampled Pygmy hoots, didgeridoo, a whirling Turkish pops/Eurovision string orchestra, programmed house and dance-style percussion, Madonna-style vocal lines and Cher-style synthvocal treatments can all be heard in the space of . . . one CD track” (Dawe 2003: 225). Vissi’s singing career has left an indelible mark on Greece’s recording industry over the past 43 years. What is more, she has attached ethical connotations to the diversity of her musical repertoire by saying in a recent interview: I consider myself honest as an artist, which means that whatever I choose to sing I want it to be something I have experienced and something I like. My music has always had diverse influences . . . and I am both cursed and blessed to be able to sing many different genres.2 While the various transformations of Vissi’s musical style over the past 43 years have sparked criticism, they have also redefined her audience and appeal. This chapter explains why musical diversity, as manifested in the output of a female Greek pop star, is vested with conflicting

29

30 • Ioannis Polychronakis

Figure 2.1 Record cover of the single “Gia Sena” (For You) featuring Anna Vissi, 2015. Source: www.annavissilive.com/wp-content/uploads/2015/10/giasenaitunes.jpeg.

meanings. In doing so, this chapter ultimately discusses why and how Vissi’s career has set new trends in the Greek music industry, and how these trends are intertwined with the development of Greek society and culture since she started in 1974 up until today. To understand the impact of Vissi’s musical oeuvre, one needs to scrutinize the development of Greek popular music and culture in tandem with the various stages of Vissi’s career over the past four decades: (1) her first steps in the post-Junta period of the mid-1970s and the beginning of her collaboration with composer Nikos Karvelas in the early 1980s; (2) the most commercially successful period of their partnership (from the mid-1980s to the mid-2000s), which has decidedly marked Vissi’s overall musical output during Greece’s post-Junta socio-economic development; and (3) her recent career moves from the onset of the Greek crisis in 2008 up until today. By observing the most significant characteristics of Vissi’s career, performing styles, personas, and reception, this chapter attempts to shed light on the possible meanings of Vissi’s musical identity, and the ways in which it has fostered a contemporary sense of Greekness. Vissi’s Early Career and First Major Successes Anna Vissi was born in Cyprus on December 20, 1957.3 In 1973, one year prior to the Turkish invasion of Cyprus, her family decided to move to Athens due to the turbulent atmosphere on the island. Soon afterwards, to the dismay of her conservative Orthodox mother, Vissi started collaborating with the then rising stars of Greek popular song, namely Yiorgos Dalaras, Haris Alexiou, and Antonis Vardis, in small Athenian live music nightclubs (boîtes). Sofia Vissi was

Anna Vissi: Singing A Socio-Cultural History • 31

furious that her teenage daughter would be working at night, since this was an activity associated with women of loose morals. However, Minos Records, Vissi’s record label at the time, insisted that Anna should sing in Athenian boîtes and gain experience before recording her debut album. Hence, her mother was eventually convinced to let her daughter go to work.4 Still, Vissi’s emancipation and financial independence during adolescence should be seen as an exception to the standard ethos of Greek family life in the mid-1970s. On the political front, the demise of the seven-year military coup d’état in 1974 ushered in an era which promised seemingly endless possibilities, as the abolition of censorship and state oppression contributed to the restoration of democracy in Greece. However, the traumas of dictatorship reverberated in the acute political polarization between Left and Right parties in the newly established Greek democracy. Composer Mikis Theodorakis’ return from exile in 1974 was celebrated with massively attended concerts across Greece, since his music had already become a symbol of the anti-dictatorship movement. As politics and music-making were becoming inextricably intertwined during the first years of the post-Junta period in Greece (Cowan 1993: 10–14), Vissi collaborated with Mikis Theodorakis and Stavros Kouyioumtzis at the beginning of her career (see Discography at the end of this chapter). But her career in Greece effectively took off when she won first prize at the Thessaloniki Song Festival in 1977 with the song “As Kanoume Apopse Mian Archi” (Let’s Make a Start Tonight), composed and penned by Doros Georgiadis. Following this victory, Minos Records released Vissi’s debut album in 1977, which was named after her winning entry. For this album, as well as for the following two released by Columbia Records in 1979 and 1980, respectively (see Discography), Vissi chose music based on the socalled art-popular or entechno genre. This relatively eclectic genre combined elements from Western art music, Greek poetry, folk music, and rebetiko song.5 However, the musical discourse of that period was imbued with the political polarization between the Left and Right parties. Devotees of the art-popular genre in the early 1980s, who were usually educated youth and the urban middle classes who viewed “the popular song as a form of poetry and the popular musician as auteur” (Papanikolaou 2007: xii), were criticized as allegedly pretentious by leftist workingclass people who favored laiko songs (urban popular; see Economou, Chapter 1, this volume). However, with the release of her first three albums up until 1980, Vissi was perceived to be singing Greek entechno music. However, in 1981 she began her collaboration with composer Nikos Karvelas, who became the most influential songwriter of her entire career, not least because they got married in 1983.6 He has been responsible for expanding her repertoire and directing it to more commercialized genres than entechno. Together, Vissi and Karvelas have created numerous hits, and Anna has become one of the most successful female pop singers in Greece. The first album which Karvelas composed for Vissi was released in 1981, and was entitled Anna Vissi. It was full of instantly catchy tunes stylistically oriented towards the early 1980s West European pop music, with influences from French chanson and disco, and which yielded several chart-topping hits. “When I first sang pop music, it felt as if I had betrayed something very significant!” Vissi explained at an interview several years later.7 This gives an indication of how polarized the discourse surrounding Greek popular music was at the time. Apart from the highbrow attitude towards commercialized pop genres, which has been a fairly widespread phenomenon in various cultures, art-popular music in Greece was permeated with intensely political meanings following the collapse of the dictatorship (Holst-Warhaft 2002: 297–323). The music of Theodorakis, for instance, with whom Vissi had collaborated in 1974 and 1975 (see Discography), achieved a

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huge following, since he was in tune with those Greeks who found in the poetry of Yiannis Ritsos, Odysseas Elytis, and Yiorgos Seferis reasons to take pride in their Greekness, despite the Junta’s damaging effect on the Greek people’s collective sense of national self.8 Thus, Vissi’s breaking away from such a musical-political genre as the art-popular one, through which Greece had reinvented its democratic identity, was considered akin to committing a sin by certain critics, musicians, and listeners. Nevertheless, Karvelas and Vissi were undismayed, and continued tirelessly their experimentation with Greek pop idioms. Karvelas’ music directed Vissi’s albums in 1982, 1984, and 1985 (see Discography) towards the elafrolaiko (light-popular) song. This was a predominantly 1980s hybrid genre which mixed elements of Western European “light” song with laiko, either in the vocal lines or in the orchestration which included bouzouki, santouri, and other such instruments widely used in Greek folk music.9 Vissi’s 1985 album achieved gold status, and her track “Dodeka” (Midnight), a typical 1980s power ballad, became so successful that it ended up being regarded as one of Vissi’s signature songs. Its huge success demonstrated Greek youth’s increasing appetite for more Western-like pop at a time when Greek popular music was by and large dominated by entechno music and such composers as Manos Hadjidakis, Mikis Theodorakis, and Dionysis Savvopoulos (Papanikolaou 2007). But, as Holst-Warhaft has put it: “[d]uring the 1970s and 1980s young Greeks began listening more and more to foreign music. . . . By the mid-1980s, young Greeks were more likely to identify with the music they heard on MTV than with Greek music” (HolstWarhaft 1997: 235). Thus, Vissi and Karvelas responded to this generational demand for more Western-like pop, producing music which was influenced by 1980s British and American pop. In general, from the beginning of Vissi’s career up until her 1980s hits, one observes experimentations with Western pop, Greek entechno, and elafrolaiko.10 As Kevin Dawe has put it, such “native models” of song categorization “reveal the local musical, political and economic context and climate in which the music [was] made” (Dawe 2009: 248–249). Thus what emerges through Vissi’s success in the 1980s is that Greece, as an increasingly stable democratic state, was gradually becoming less absorbed in political issues than it was at the beginning of the post-Junta period; hence, the decline of political song in the 1980s (Holst-Warhaft 1997: 235). Concurrently, Greek society was getting closer to the West, especially following the country’s accession to the European Economic Community (now the European Union) in 1981. Greek commerce became relatively exposed to international markets which, along with the country’s booming tourist industry, became a vehicle for introducing Greeks to a variety of foreign cultural influences. These influences, however, were still far from dominant in the 1980s, which explains why Vissi’s musical experimentations at the time, although successful, did not yield the consecutive number-one hits that she achieved in the 1990s. Thus, to understand how Vissi attained the iconic status that she did in the 1990s, it is necessary to examine the social, political, and cultural context of that period. The Greek 1990s, Pista Music, and “the Vissi Phenomenon” The 1990s signaled a historical sea change not only for Greece and the broader Southeastern Europe but also for the world at large. With the collapse of the Iron Curtain and the disintegration of the Soviet Union, the USA emerged as the world’s only superpower, while the European Union started to take its current form. Greece responded to these profound geopolitical transformations with major political parties interpreting this historical moment as a call to

Anna Vissi: Singing A Socio-Cultural History • 33

“get closer to Europe” by contributing to the European Union’s greater integration. On the socio-economic front, globalizing trends and late capitalist policies acquired a firm foothold in Greek society during the 1990s. Opportunities for market investment, financial profit, and social mobility were on the increase. In this facet, media deregulation, mass communication technologies, and digitization played a significant role. On the cultural front, commercial television networks, operating in Greece since 1989, broadcast an abundance of Anglo-American entertainment programs and fostered the familiarization of Greek audiences with Western popular culture, and MAD TV, the Greek equivalent of MTV, began broadcasting in 1996.11 It disseminated the MTV aesthetics with locally produced music videos, and it gave the national recording industry a considerable boost. The perennial dilemma of Greece’s national identity, forged by the friction between its Eastern and Western cultural characteristics (Herzfeld 1982, 1987), was played out in popular songs no less than in any other field of cultural production. However, Holst-Warhaft describes a “reconciliation”, a sort of musical cosmopolitanism in the 1990s, practiced by Greek youth who would “dance to Western music before midnight and tsiftetelia (the belly dance rhythm associated with the rebetiko) after midnight” (Holst-Warhaft 2002: 319). A possible reason for this phenomenon is that in Greece during the 1990s the East–West antithesis was leveled even further as world music became a global trend (Stokes 2003: 297–308). The impact of world music upon the Greek music industry resulted in remixing tunes from the East Mediterranean soundscape, or newly composed songs embedded in this musical world, with contemporary arrangements, pop music orchestrations, and Greek lyrics. Such songs formed the so-called pista repertoire, steeped in Anatolian sonic and cultural signifiers as well as Western pop beats. During the 1990s, East Mediterranean music, in the guise of the globalized ethnic other, made its way into the spotlight of Greek popular culture and was assimilated into everyday life.12 From dawn until dusk, pista music could be heard virtually everywhere: in supermarkets, taxis, hairdressing salons, cafés, and on radio and television programs.13 Lifestyle television shows featured local celebrities visiting Athenian pistas, while premieres in these venues were presented even in news bulletins on prime-time television. The incredible commercial success of pista music and its accumulated cultural capital nurtured pop stars whose careers sky-rocketed precisely because they sang and developed this particular repertoire. The cultural impact of pista music was twofold. On the one hand, it gradually mitigated deep-seated stereotypes against the Ottoman heritage of modern Greek culture. It redefined what Easternness meant to present-day Greeks who started to disassociate it from Turkishness and the nearly 400-year Ottoman occupation of the Greek world (1453–1821). In fact, Athenian pista could be considered to be the response of contemporary Greek popular music to the ways in which Greece’s Easternness and Westernness merged musically, aesthetically, and culturally from the 1990s onward. On the other hand, pista music heavily influenced other genres of Greek popular music, ranging from Greek entries for the Eurovision Song Contest to Greek hip-hop, which sparked an intense authenticity debate about the ontology of each genre.14 From a socio-economic perspective, Athenian pista evolved into a phenomenon which reflected the Greek people’s improving economic status from the 1990s up until approximately the mid2000s. During this time, which marked Greece’s “modernization” with its shallow and shortlived economic growth, pista became a platform where social dynamics were strongly played out, while social prestige and financial prowess were unabashedly displayed. Wealthy customers, or those who merely wanted to show off, reserved the privileged tables in the first row, which allowed them to interact with pista stars. Regardless of social status, though, whether for the

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highly visible nouveaux riches sitting by the stage, or the students and lower middle-class workers standing by the bar at the back, the pista experience was a cherished way to escape from quotidian life and indulge in a moment of intoxication and “high life”. It was in this context that Anna Vissi became a leading figure in the national music industry, as her vocal art not only expressed but also shaped Greek culture in the 1990s. Vissi’s massive commercial success continued until approximately the mid-2000s, as her pista repertoire became the soundtrack of Greece’s consumer hedonism during this period. Her star status grew exponentially, not only due to her vocal talent which pre-existed her 1990s breakthrough, but also because both Vissi and Karvelas knew how to read their audience, the burgeoning middle class, and how to plan their artistic strategy accordingly. Vissi’s album Klima Tropiko (Tropical Climate) was released in 1996, and acquired double platinum status within only a few weeks (Dragoumanos 2000: 132). The highly commercialized hits included in this album dominated radio playlists, music television shows, and the Athenian night life. “A night at Vissi’s” was the ultimate entertaining experience for pista-goers, while taking a picture of themselves with or next to Vissi was considered a sign of coolness. Karvelas’ cross-overs, blending Greek bouzouki music and global pop, along with Vissi’s dramatic voice, set new trends in the pista repertoire and resonated with Greek society’s socio-cultural transformation during the 1990s. Up until the mid-2000s, Vissi’s repertoire was associated with the Athenian pista par excellence. She used special effects, props, and ballet to make her shows spectacular and glamorous. Numerous articles in the tabloid press and on radio and television programs discussed her pista shows and her trips to London and New York, where she was photographed shooting video clips for the Greek market, or attending musicals and other entertainment shows from which she reportedly borrowed ideas for her own shows in Athenian pistas. Vissi’s pista shows cultivated a cosmopolitan atmosphere, featuring songs of mainstream global pop stars, while focusing on Vissi’s Greek repertoire which attracted hordes of local fans and celebrities. At the same time, Vissi made several attempts to expand her professional activities abroad, counting on the support of Greek diaspora, but aiming for an international audience further afield. In 2000 she released an Anglophone studio album which ironically became a major success only in Greece (see Discography). But her English CD single “Call Me”, after being released in the USA in 2005, reached the number-one spot on Billboard’s Hot Dance-Music/Club-Play Charts and number two on Billboard’s Dance Radio-Airplay Charts (see Discography).15 It was in this context that Vissi’s domestic career reached yet another peak, which prompted the national broadcasting corporation, ERT, to ask her to represent Greece on home soil at the Athens Eurovision Song Contest in 2006. Such career hallmarks were enough, though, for Vissi to be regarded by Greek fans and journalists as “the Greek Madonna”. Elsewhere I have analyzed how Vissi embraced this characterization for her own benefit, in an attempt to export her image and music to international markets while redefining and expanding her popularity in Greece (Polychronakis 2007: 509–519). In the same article I also demonstrated how the ambivalence of her persona as “the Greek Madonna” was potentially linked to the relatively low score that her Eurovision performance achieved in 2006.16 The stereotypically local characteristics of “the Greek Madonna’s” stage act alienated many European fans of the Grand Prix, as I discovered during fieldwork in 2006; yet at the same time such local characteristics became a source of pride for Vissi’s Greek fans. For this reason they continued to support her, even after her disappointing Eurovision outcome, which was followed by a two-year inwardlooking period with only a few live concerts and rare public appearances.17 Later on, Vissi expressed her gratitude to her local fans’ devotion, claiming that their diversity, which arguably

Anna Vissi: Singing A Socio-Cultural History • 35

highlights Vissi’s enduring appeal across different generations in Greece, had made her career at home more meaningful than the pursuit of international success.18 This view will concern me in the final part of this chapter, where I will focus on the exploration of Vissi’s notion of success and its implications for the development of her career following her participation in the Athens Eurovision Song Contest in 2006. Anna Vissi in Recent Years Vissi’s emphasis on the significance of her domestic career, despite previous attempts to transcend the national borders of Greece, brings to mind Martin Stokes’ comment on a similar view articulated by popular music star Sezen Aksu in neighboring Turkey. According to Stokes, Aksu seems to acknowledge that “while transnational conversation is all well and good, what actually matters, in the final analysis, is the national one” (Stokes 2007: 327). Similarly, in Vissi’s case the cosmopolitan elements of her repertoire and performing style have mattered inasmuch as they have had an impact on contemporary Greek popular music and culture. A recent case in point was Vissi’s 2008 album, which was the result of her introspective period following the Athens Eurovision Song Contest, and was marked by Karvelas’ complete absence. Although Anna Vissi went as far as Los Angeles to collaborate with renowned producers such as Greg Ladanyi and Patrick Leonard, the album was specifically tailored to help Vissi stand out in the Greek market.19 Indeed, the album achieved double platinum status, ensuring a dynamic comeback for her.20 Similarly, Stokes’ account of Turkish Sezen Aksu shows that, despite her several collaborations with musicians from abroad, the ripple effect of Aksu’s massive success in her native country has hardly reached any further than the Balkan peninsula or the Turkish diaspora (Stokes 2010: 107–145). In any case, it is very rare for any pop singer to dominate today’s international pop charts while having their home base away from the Anglophone metropolises of the West.21 Likewise, Vissi’s carefully calculated musical experimentations have been designed mainly for domestic consumption in an effort to continuously reinvent herself as a contemporary Greek pop diva. By appropriating and personalizing the transcultural trends of today, Vissi has enhanced the musical canvass from which she draws her selling points in the Greek music industry, thus overlaying a national signification to cosmopolitanism. Differently put, Vissi’s musical and cultural cosmopolitanism is made in and for Greece, which ascertains Bowdens’ argument that “cosmopolitanism and its notion of a global citizenry should not be thought of as a universalizing homogenizing project” (Bowden 2003: 244). Since her 2008 album entitled Apagorevmeno (Forbidden), Vissi has continued her career on the same track, and she resumed her collaboration with Karvelas in 2010. Meanwhile, the devastating effects of the Greek crisis have permeated all aspects of life, and have persisted up until the time of writing and editing this chapter (March 2018). Inevitably, pista music has considerably lost the overpowering effect it used to have on Greek popular culture in general.22 At the same time, the dramatic fall in album sales has changed the recording industry to such an extent that the latter has subsisted mainly on albums being distributed for free as attachments to widely circulated newspapers and magazines.23 Vissi’s studio album in 2010, entitled Agapi Einai Esy (Love Means You), was a case in point, since it was released by Sony Music Greece yet packaged as part of Real News, a nationally issued Greek newspaper. Furthermore, the album’s lukewarm reception urged Vissi to reach out to her audience in multiple ways. Thus, in 2011 she released a reality show about her life, or a “rockumentary”, as she called it; and she

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started to give live shows in Athens and summer tours across Greece again, while releasing solely new singles (rather than a new album) between 2010 and 2015.24 How, then, in conclusion, to assess Vissi’s contribution to Greek popular music? I hope I have clearly shown that her cosmopolitan Greekness, which has attracted both praise and criticism, has shaped the country’s contemporary soundscape by blending its Eastern and Western elements. As such, it has left an indelible mark not only on the local music industry but, more importantly, on the national imaginary of present-day Greece. To a certain extent, Vissi’s music has re-signified Greek notions of Easternness, associating the latter with the glamor of her pista shows. In doing so, she has localized cosmopolitan trends and has musically mediated the multiplicity of meanings accrued to Greekness today. Now that present times are precarious for nearly everyone in crisis-stricken Greece, it would be tempting to assume that the future prospects of Vissi’s career, like those of Greece as a whole, are fairly dim. Both have been affected, yet in different ways, by the worst socio-economic crisis since World War II. It seems more productive, however, to contemplate this historical juncture, bearing in mind that cross-cultural encounters and international collaborations have always been the driving force in Vissi’s 43year career. Likewise, a similar kind of cosmopolitanism, internationally minded yet adapted to Greek circumstances, may provide the necessary impetus to reverse the deepening crisis at the time of writing, and facilitate Greece’s effort to reinvent its national self once more. Notes 1

“The successful propagation of the myth of cultural continuity”, as Holst-Warhaft has it (Holst-Warhaft 1997: 232), or “the continuity thesis”, as it has been differently put (Hess 2003: 47), has played a central role in the process of nation building within Greece by providing a construction of Greek identity that simultaneously promoted internal unity and external respect by establishing modern Greeks as the contemporary representatives and guardians of the political, intellectual, and cultural legacy of classical Athenian society.

2 3 4 5

6 7 8 9 10

However, the issue of Greece’s cultural continuity has caused considerable controversy in recent years and has been challenged even by Greek writers (see, e.g., Dimou 1998). The quote is taken from an interview Vissi gave to Petros Kostopoulos on Antenna TV on December 15, 2011. Watch the cited snippets (in Greek) on YouTube. 2011. “Anna Vissi: Interview at Vradi Talk Show.” 16:47″– 17:08″ . . . 28:00″–28:06″. Available at www.youtube.com/watch?v=-WR1LbTi5o0 (accessed July 15, 2014). Information derived from Anna Vissi’s autobiographical television documentary (in Greek). Crokos, Christine (Director). Oso Eho Foni (As Long as I Have a Voice), Episode 1, 03:58″–04:04″. Alpha TV, October 12, 2011. Available at www.youtube.com/watch?v=H4lze1J2VJY (accessed July 15, 2014). Watch Sofia Vissi’s statement at 22:23″–22:33″. In Oso Eho Foni (As Long as I Have a Voice), Episode 1 (ibid.). Entechno literally means “artful”, and is a contested term. Detractors, who advocate against its use for the definition of one specific genre of Greek popular music, claim that all song forms are artful. They believe that the term “entechno masks a blatantly separatist stance stigmatising artists who serve more commercial genres than entechno” (from an interview which Evi Droutsa, a widely known lyricist of commercial songs, gave to the author on July 17, 2007). Vissi and Karvelas’ marriage lasted for less than a decade, as they separated in 1990 and officially divorced in 1993. However, their professional partnership has continued up until the present, despite a four-year hiatus from 2006 to 2010. Crokos, Christine (Director). Oso Eho Foni (As Long as I Have a Voice), Episode 1, 24:20″–24:41″. Alpha TV, October 12, 2011. Available at www.youtube.com/watch?v=H4lze1J2VJY (accessed July 15, 2014). Yiannis Ritsos was a poet and left-wing activist who won the Lenin Peace Prize in 1977. The poet Yiorgos Seferis became a Nobel Laureate in Literature in 1963, and Odysseas Elytis won the same title in 1979. Theodorakis set to music poems composed by all three poets, which became extremely popular with Greek audiences in the 1970s. Santouri is a hammered dulcimer. Following Negus, who speaks about hybridity in Irish music (Negus 1997: 190), I wish to clarify at this point that Greekness (or any other national identity for that matter) is not an inherent characteristic of any musical genre. Musical sound, as any other product of human cognition, is socio-culturally embedded. Therefore, Greek music

Anna Vissi: Singing A Socio-Cultural History • 37

11 12

13 14

15

is understood as such by association to previous experiences of similar musical sounds whose melodic and rhythmic elements, lyrical content, or instrumentation are collectively perceived to be related to Greece. See the official website: MAD TV. 2013. “About MAD. Corporate Info.” Available atwww.mad.tv/wp-content/ uploads/2014/05/MAD_ENGLISH_PROFILE_2013.pdf (accessed July 15, 2014). Pistes (sing. pista) are live music nightclubs that are much bigger and glitzier than the 1970s Athenian boîtes. Pista music is the repertoire performed in these venues – a mix of bouzouki music with contemporary global pop. Pistes draw historically upon the development of the 1950s and 1960s kosmikes tavernes, or beau monde taverns, as Penannen calls them (Penannen 1999: 68–69; see also Tragaki 2007: 43, 51, 56–57, 60, 63, 66–67, 186–267). Kosmikes tavernes were music restaurants which accommodated the aesthetic taste of the emerging postwar Greek middle class. Both kosmikes tavernes and their post-1970s variants the Athenian pistes have always reflected the musical tastes of their paying customers, as have the rural equivalent of pistes, the so-called skyladika (dog dens) or provincial pistes (Alexandris 2000). Therefore, any change in the demographics and/or aesthetic preferences of the social groups frequenting pistes, be they provincial or Athenian, has been reflected in the show, its physical space, and the experience of it as a whole. For a similar phenomenon in Turkey, the gazino, which was widely popular during the 1980s, see Beken (2003). A similar condition in an Anglo-American context has led Frith to state that “[p]op music could be defined as the music we listen to without meaning to; the songs we know without knowing how we know them” (Frith 2007: 178). A characteristic example here is the track “Erota i Polemo” (Love or War), released in 2005. This was the result of a collaboration between Anna Vissi and the hip-hop group Goin’ Through, which won the “Best Hip-Hop Video-Clip Award” by MAD TV in 2006. However, upon receiving the award the lead singer of Goin’ Through said, “although ‘Love or War’ is a wonderful song, it should not have been included in the category of hip-hop”. This was an outspoken acceptance that the hip-hop elements of the song were overshadowed by the Greek elements. Watch the cited statement (in Greek) on YouTube. 2012: “MAD Video Music Awards 2006.” 01:02:16″–1:02:48″. Available at www.youtube.com/watch?v=wCbz79KEzsU (accessed July 15, 2014). As Fred Bronson, a distinguished music journalist who works for the Billboard magazine, explained to me via email on May 28, 2007: [These] two dance charts . . . are certainly genre charts. So, Americans who follow dance music might be aware of Anna Vissi, and people who pay attention to what is happening in the rest of the world might know Anna Vissi, but in the general population it would be difficult to find a lot of people who would be familiar with her.

16 17

18

Bronson’s interpretation of Vissi’s success in the USA corresponds with the Greek-American anthropologist Anastasia Panagakos’ research on the reception of Greek popular artists in Canada. Panagakos claims that their success is principally limited to Greek diaspora (Panagakos 2003: 209–210). Vissi’s act, despite being considered a top favorite by bookmakers and fans, ranked ninth in a field of twentyfive, and lost the Grand Prix to Lordi, a group of monster rockers from Finland. The hectic period leading to the 2006 Eurovision Song Context, which included a stressful promotional tour across the Continent, caused Vissi to develop a vocal cord nodule for which she underwent surgery and treatment in the USA during the summer of 2006. Then, in 2007, she suffered the confiscation of her personal belongings, which humiliatingly hit the headlines and prime-time news, due to a litigation with the production company of a television show which she had presented in the 1990s. Amidst all this, Vissi and Karvelas suspended their collaboration. Nevertheless, in 2008 her Greek fans established Fannatics, Vissi’s official fan club. Fannatics are among the few fan clubs dedicated to pop stars in Greece. See: Fannatics. 2008. “News.” Available at www.fannatics.gr/news.php?lang=en (accessed July 15, 2014). During an interview for Greece’s Alpha TV in 2012, Vissi was asked whether she would rather have pursued a successful international career. Her exact answer was: The fact that I started in 1974 and I’m still here today, in 2012, . . . setting your show’s twitter account on fire, while having baby-fans and granny-fans alike, reveals the whole gamut of my fans and shows that this is a big career. Whether one addresses 12 or 120 million people makes no difference to me. See: YouTube. 2013. “Anna Vissi: Best Of Interviews”, 01:10:02″–01:11:01″. Available at www.youtube.com/watch?v=MAMmgo62OlA (accessed July 15, 2014).

19

20 21

Greg Ladanyi (b. 1952, d. 2009) was an American recording engineer and producer, known for his collaborations with such musicians as Jackson Browne, The Church, Fleetwood Mac, Jeff Healey, and others. Patrick Leonard (b. 1956) is an American songwriter and music producer, known for his collaborations with Madonna, Pink Floyd, Roger Waters, Elton John, Rod Stewart, Leonard Cohen, Bryan Adams, and others. See the official website: Anna Vissi. 2009. “Sales Certifications.” Available at www.annavissilive.com/en/bio/ aponomes/ (accessed July 15, 2014). A notable exception is Psy, the South Korean pop musician, whose 2012 hit “Gangnam Style” was viewed over 2.79 billion times on YouTube up until March 2017. It has been YouTube’s most-watched video since November 24, 2012; see: YouTube. 2012. “PSY – GANGNAM STYLE M/V.” Available at www.youtube.com/watch?v=9bZ kp7q19f0&app=desktop (accessed March 27, 2017).

38 • Ioannis Polychronakis 22 23 24

See, e.g., a newspaper report (in Greek) by Sykka, Yiota. 2009. “Panikos stis Pistes tis Nychtas” (Panic in Night Pistas). Kathimerini, March 22. Available at www.kathimerini.gr/353224/article/politismos/arxeio-politismoy/ panikos-stis-pistes-ths-nyxtas (accessed July 15, 2014). See, e.g., an overtly sarcastic newspaper article written (in Greek) by Haris Pontida. 2010. “Empros gia Neous Platinenious” (Let’s Go for New Platinum Records). Ta Nea, June 12. Available at http://archive.today/MuAs (accessed July 15, 2014). Then, early in 2015, Karvelas and Vissi produced and presented a Rock opera, Oi Kampanes tou Edelweiss (The Bells of Edelweiss), while later that year they eventually released an entire pop album entitled Synentefxi (Interview), yet under a new local label, Panik Gold. Oi Kampanes tou Edelweiss, whose soundtrack was also released by Panik Gold, was not the first Rock opera by Nikos Karvelas and Anna Vissi. Their first attempt in this genre dates back to 1991 when they produced and presented Daimones (Demons), while their second was in 2002 when they staged Mala. Thus far, Vissi and Karvelas have created three Rock operas in total. Although these have been commercially successful, they have not superseded the cultural capital accumulated by their numerous chart-topping hits in Greek popular music. However, these three Rock operas have significantly contributed to the diversity of their repertoire.

Bibliography Alexandris, Thanos. 2000. Afti i Nychta Menei. Athens: Odos Panos. Beken, Münir Nurettin. 2003. “Aesthetics and Artistic Criticism at the Turkish Gazino.” Music & Anthropology 8. Available at www.umbc.edu/eol/MA/index/number8/gazino/bek_00.htm (accessed September 30, 2011). Bowden, Brett. 2003. “Nationalism and Cosmopolitanism: Irreconcilable Differences or Possible Bedfellows?” National Identities 5(3): 235–249. Cowan, Jane. 1993. “Politics, Identity and Popular Music in Contemporary Greece.” Kampos: Cambridge Papers in Modern Greek 1(1): 1–21. Dawe, Kevin. 2003. “Between East and West: Contemporary Grooves in Greek Popular Music (1990–2000).” In Mediterranean Mosaic: Popular Music and Global Sound, ed. Goffredo Plastino. London: Routledge, pp. 221–240. Dawe, Kevin. 2007. Music and Musicians in Crete: Performance and Ethnography in a Mediterranean Island Society. Lanham, MD: Scarecrow Press. Dawe, Kevin. 2009. “The Woven World: Unraveling the Mainstream and the Alternative in Greek Popular Music.” In The Ashgate Research Companion to Popular Musicology, ed. Derek B. Scott. Farnham: Ashgate, pp. 243–257. Dimou, Nikos. 1998. Apologia Enos Anthellina. Athens: Opera. Dragoumanos, Petros. 2000. Katalogos Ellinikis Diskografias 1950–2000. Athens: Dragoumanos. Frith, Simon. 2007. “Pop Music.” In Taking Popular Music Seriously: Selected Essays. Aldershot: Ashgate, pp. 167–182. Herzfeld, Michael. 1982. Ours Once More: Folklore, Ideology, and the Making of Modern Greece. Austin: University of Texas Press. Herzfeld, Michael. 1987. Anthropology through the Looking-Glass: Critical Ethnography in the Margins of Europe. Cambridge: Cambridge University Press. Hess, Franklin L. 2003. “Close Encounters of the Common Kind: The Theoretical and Practical Implications of Popular Culture for Modern Greek Studies.” Journal of Modern Greek Studies 21(1): 37–67. Holst-Warhaft, Gail. 1992. Dangerous Voices: Women’s Laments and Greek Literature. London: Routledge. Holst-Warhaft, Gail. 1997. “Song, Self-Identity, and the Neohellenic.” Journal of Modern Greek Studies 15(2): 232–238. Holst-Warhaft, Gail. 2002. “Politics and Popular Music in Modern Greece.” Journal of Military and Political Sociology 30(2): 297–323. Kallimopoulou, Eleni. 2009. Paradosiaka: Music, Meaning and Identity in Modern Greece. Farnham: Ashgate. Negus, Keith. 1997. “Sinead O’ Connor – Musical Mother.” In Sexing the Groove: Popular Music and Gender, ed. Sheila Whiteley. London: Routledge, pp. 178–190. Panagakos, Anastasia. 2003. “Downloading New Identities: Ethnicity, Identity and Media in the Global Greek Village.” Identities 10(2): 201–219. Papageorgiou, Fouli. 1997. “Popular Music and the Music Industry in Greece.” In Whose Master’s Voice? The Development of Popular Music in Thirteen Countries, ed. Alison Ewbank and Fouli Papageorgiou. Westport, CT, and London: Greenwood Press, pp. 67–87. Papanikolaou, Dimitris. 2007. Singing Poets: Literature and Popular Music in France and Greece. London: Legenda. Pennanen, Risto Pekka. 1999. Westernization and Modernization in Greek Popular Music. Tampere: University of Tampere. Polychronakis, Ioannis. 2007. “Anna Vissi: The Greek ‘Madonna’?” In INTER: A European Cultural Studies Conference in Sweden, ed. Martin Fredriksson and Johan Fornäs. Linköping: Linköping University Press, pp. 509–519. Stokes, Martin. 1997. “Shedding Light on the Balkans: Sezen Aksu’s Anatolian Pop.” In Balkan Popular Culture and the Ottoman Ecumene, ed. Donna Buchannan. Lanham, MD: Scarecrow Press, pp. 309–334. Stokes, Martin. 2003. “Globalization and the Politics of World Music.” In The Cultural Study of Music: A Critical Introduction, ed. Martin Clayton, Trevor Herbert, and Richard Middleton. London: Routledge, pp. 297–308.

Anna Vissi: Singing A Socio-Cultural History • 39 Stokes, Martin. 2010. The Republic of Love: Cultural Intimacy in Turkish Popular Music. Chicago, IL: The University of Chicago Press. Tragaki, Dafni. 2007. Rebetiko Worlds: Ethnomusicology and Ethnography in the City. Newcastle: Cambridge Scholars Publishing.

Discography Kouyioumtzis, Stavros. Mikres Politeies. Minos Records 210, 1974, 331⁄3 rpm. Terror X Crew. Essetai Imar. FM Records 21P05DZ-01, 2001, compact disc. Theodorakis, Mikis. Dekaokto Lianotragouda tis Pikris Patridas. Minos Records 192, 1974, 331⁄3 rpm. Theodorakis, Mikis. Grammata apo ti Germania. Minos Records 266, 1975, 331⁄3 rpm. Vissi, Anna. As Kanoume Apopse Mian Archi. Minos Records 314, 1977, 331⁄3 rpm. Vissi, Anna. Kitrino Galazio. Columbia Records 70937, 1979, 331⁄3 rpm. Vissi, Anna. Nai. Columbia Records 71158, 1980, 331⁄3 rpm. Vissi, Anna. Eimai to Simera ki Eisai to Chthes. Carvi Productions 121, 1982, 331⁄3 rpm. Vissi, Anna. Na Ches Kardia. CBS 25955, 1984, 331⁄3 rpm. Vissi, Anna. Kati Symvainei. CBS 26652, 1985, 331⁄3 rpm. Vissi, Anna. Klima Tropiko. Columbia Records COL483908 2, 1996, compact disc. Vissi, Anna. Kravgi. Columbia/Sony Music Greece COL501513 2, 2000, compact disc. Vissi, Anna. Everything I Am. Columbia/Sony Music Greece COL669534 9, 2000, compact disc. Vissi, Anna. Call Me. Columbia/Sony Music Greece COL676016 5, 2005, compact disc single. Vissi, Anna. Everything. Columbia/Sony BMG 82876859742, 2006, compact disc single. Vissi, Anna. Apagorevmeno. Sony BMG 88697449402, 2008, compact disc. Vissi, Anna. Agapi Einai Esy. Sony Music 88697841662, 2010, compact disc.

Filmography Crokos, Christine (Director). 2011. Oso Eho Foni (As Long as I Have a Voice). Alpha TV.

3 No More Babes on the Dance-Stage The Changing Modes of Spectatorship in Athenian Live Music Nightclubs Ioannis Tsioulakis

Introduction Greek culture, and music in particular, has been defined by a relentless antagonism between occidentalist and orientalist discourses. This phenomenon, what Michael Herzfeld calls disemia (1987: 111–117), has affected numerous literary and performance domains and has been thoroughly investigated in relation to Greek popular and folk music, both historically and ethnographically.1 However, little effort has been made towards the examination of how these tensions are played out in the urban popular music nightclubs of the late capitalist era. Echoing the volume’s focus on the emerging ontologies of popular music performance, this chapter will explore the ways in which recent trends in nightlife entertainment have designated a shift in the accepted modalities of spectatorship. More specifically, I will discuss how the audience’s bodily behaviour and the manipulation of the performance space have switched from the established participatory mode of engagement (the audience dancing on the stage next to the performer) towards a spectator mentality (the audience consuming alcohol in their designated seats). As this chapter will argue, this is a complex process entailing cultural politics, economic considerations, labour relationships, embodied subjectivities, and identity claims coming from a variety of competing social actors, including pop-singers, instrumentalists, entrepreneurs, and fans. Based on extended ethnographic research within the professional music circuit, this chapter will compare the significance of the two types of nightclub participation in relation to the genres of music performed and the types of socio-cultural imaginaries that each fosters. The venues which serve as the ethnographic field for this account are called pistes (plural of pista, literally “stage”) and they are the main loci of live music entertainment in Greek urban nightlife. Pistes in Athens, specifically, host the most prominent popular music stars for performance seasons that last usually from November until April each year. Music shows take place three or four nights per week, starting at around midnight and lasting typically more than five or six hours until early the following morning. Each of those nightclubs features a number of singers, the most established of whom is the headliner usually referred to as the “big name” (megalo onoma), supported by two or three “secondary names” (deftera onomata). The types of pistes that operate within the Greek capital may be crudely divided into two general categories: the laikes pistes (literally “folk stages”), also referred to as bouzoukia,2 and the “modern” or “pop” pistes. Although the defining feature of each of these types of venues is the music genre

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with which the main artist is associated, as I will argue in this chapter, the transition from one to the other type also relates to a range of performance practices and modes of spectatorship, rich in socio-cultural connotations. The clientele of pistes comprises people from very diverse backgrounds in terms of class, age, and gender. However, the established range of admission prices and designated club areas ensures that spectators do not mix freely. A simple entrance ticket gives the holder access to the area furthest away from the stage, a space for standing audience members only.3 Seating areas, located closer to the stage, are reserved for those willing to pay a minimum consumption rate, measured through a ratio of bottles of alcohol per table. Moreover, the proximity of a group of spectators’ table to the stage is dependent on how much they are willing to tip the maitre.4 These “tips” often represent the largest expense for spectators, since a good table on a busy night may require a tip of 200 or 300 euro. In effect, this procedure of price scaling creates a hierarchy of paying customers, which is also spatially manifest: the more a group of spectators are willing to spend, the closest they will be to the stage. Proximity to the stage is desirable not only because spectators will be able to witness the show more intimately, but also because it will allow them to engage more successfully in two essential practices of the pista: “flower tossing” and dancing. Tossing flowers (usually white and red carnations) is an activity associated more with the laikes pistes. It is used to designate the audience’s appreciation towards the singers and dancers, while at the

Figure 3.1 Stage of Athenian pista covered in flowers. Source: Photo by the author.

Spectatorship in Athenian Nightclubs • 43

same time operating as a way to flaunt one’s wealth. The audience members buy these flowers in small baskets from the louloudoudes (flower girls) who are employed by the club. In the main part of this chapter I will discuss my ethnographic experience within the two types of pistes: in the former as an audience member and in the latter as a musician employed as a member of the club’s band.5 Through these descriptions I will elaborate upon the changing modes of audience participation in clubs, focusing specifically on how these modes capture a number of conceptual dualisms that are central to Greek popular music-making. A Night at Bouzoukia I entered the club Muses, located on Syggrou Avenue – one of the hotspots of south Athenian nightlife – just after midnight on a cold January Friday night. I had been invited by Vangelis, the second keyboardist in the Starz club band where I was also employed, so I called him on his mobile phone once I arrived and encountered the club’s bouncers. Rumours about the connections between the club owner and the local criminal underworld made me quite nervous, so I decided that being accompanied by an insider would be a good idea.6 He arrived to greet me at the door and let the bouncers know that I was his guest and a fellow musician from another club, making it clear that I would not be paying the entrance fee. They replied, “ok maestro!”, a title acknowledging his status as one of the musical directors of the show, but also affording him a great deal of social capital.7 The maestros of a nightclub’s orchestra is a person who carries authority based on his8 musical knowledge (cultural capital) but also on his ability to coordinate and lead the other instrumentalists as a group of labourers. He makes sure that the rehearsals run smoothly and that the musicians are prepared and punctual, negotiates their payments, and even ensures the appropriateness of their outfits. As a result, the successful maestros commands a lot of respect from his peers, while simultaneously he has access to the higher strata of the nightclub’s social field: the singers, music industry managers, and club owners. Some differences in the conventions between the “modern” Starz club in the central area of Thisseio in Athens where I had been working and this laiki pista (urban folk stage) were immediately apparent. What first struck me was that the audience were eating a meal. This was a convention surviving from older music clubs which I had never witnessed in person before. Numerous musicians had reported to me that they found it quite uncomfortable to perform while the audience were having dinner, and they were glad that this practice had ceased to exist in more “modern” nightclubs. I asked my host about the practice of consuming food; he explained that the whole service was timed so that it did not coincide with the performance of any of the “big names” (megala onomata). While the “opening act” was taking place, dinner was served and plates were generally cleared prior to the “entrance” of the headliners of the programme. In contrast, in the “modern” club where I had been performing, food was limited to nibbles (usually fruit and cheese) and was served throughout the programme as an accompaniment to bottles of alcohol. A significant element was the position of the instrumentalists. Following the conventions of contemporary, urban laiko performance, the instrumentalists did not occupy the main stage, a space reserved for the singer with the occasional appearance of a bouzouki soloist. Traditionally, instrumentalists would be confined to the nether region of the stage, thus allowing enough space for the main singer to occupy the front of the stage and monopolize the audience’s attention. However, this club’s interior architect had conceived of a more original idea: the instrumentalists

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were placed on an elevated balcony about five metres above the stage, under which there was a hidden opening serving the singers’ extravagant stage entries. This design served multiple purposes: the instrumentalists were out of the way allowing for the singers’ uninterrupted movement, performers could be seen from all regions of the spectators’ seating since they were placed on different levels, and finally the stage appeared quite spectacular in this three-dimensional expansion. If the backing instrumentalists were visible to the audience (even if ostracized from the stage) the same was not the case for the backing vocalists. Twenty minutes into the show, four young women carrying wireless microphones came and sat at the table next to us among some scattered, disengaged audience members. We were situated on a balcony and, since the club was not overly full, this gave us some privacy. “Ti lei, maestro?” (“What’s happening, maestro?”), one of them asked my host, who immediately went over to greet them. I realized that these were some of the backing vocalists, who I presumed were on their break, judging from their lighted cigarettes. Vangélis invited me over for introductions. “This is Yiannis, we work together in Sakis’s band,” he said, conveying all the important information about my identity. I started chatting to the woman closest to me, when suddenly the singer next to her picked up one of the wireless microphones off the table, turned on the switch, and started singing. Amazed and perplexed, I stop talking mid-sentence. “So what’s Sakis like?” the first woman asked me without even trying to keep her voice down, while her colleague kept on singing. Reluctantly, I started recounting some of my experiences at the Starz club, all along waiting for a command to keep quiet next to a person who was trying to perform backing vocals. No shushing was forthcoming, however. I watched and talked to the four women while they took breaks from singing to take a pull of their cigarettes, drink, or have discussions among themselves. At the same time, their wellharmonized voices surrounded and augmented that of the stage singer without attracting any of the audience’s attention. Situated off the stage and only partly engaged in the performance itself, these female vocalists struck me as very peculiar “performers”. Their contribution was as integral to the sound that reached the audience as those of the stage participants; however, their presence was disembodied, almost virtual, while their bodies existed in a space designated for informal socializing rather than in the spotlight. Similar to the numerous technicians present in the club, their contribution was tremendously valued for its result, but it could be argued that it was not strictly performative, to the extent that it was not visually witnessed or even audibly realized by the less knowledgeable audience members.9 The way in which programmes are structured in laiko clubs is relatively uniform. Each nightclub usually features three or four well-known singers who appear on stage in reverse order of their popularity. The so-called “first programme” (proto programma) showcases each singer’s current hits, usually with the purpose of promoting a new album release. During this section of the programme, the audience is primarily watching and listening while eating or consuming alcohol. The stage setup, lighting, and bodily performances of this first half of the show serve to emphasize its spectacle character. Visual effects and often videos are used, and the whole stage is occupied by the performers whose movements are often choreographed, sometimes with the addition of professional dancers alongside the main singer. Moreover, during the first half of the show, songs are usually sung to their full length, separated by pauses for applause. The singer often introduces specific songs, especially if they are featured in an upcoming or freshly released album.

Spectatorship in Athenian Nightclubs • 45

What I found to be the most significant performative feature, however, and the defining line of a laiki pista, was the “second programme” (deftero programma). This latter half of the show serves the purpose of dancing. The set list includes more well-known and often older popular hits while maintaining a balance between different dance styles, especially the most common two: zeibekiko (traditionally thought of as a male dance) and tsifteteli (principally danced by females). On that particular night, the first singer of the “second programme” opened the stage to the audience at around 3 a.m. by exclaiming, “na sas do olous stin pista tora!” (“let’s see you all on stage now!”). These types of utterances serve to give the signal that the stage is no longer off-limits for the audience. During the 1990s, the phrase “ola ta mora stin pista” (“all the babes on the stage”) had become iconic of this liminal phase of the nightclub show, when audience members take over the performance space and transform into spectacles. That particular phrase had become quite banal by 2008 when I was conducting my fieldwork, so singers found alternative and, incidentally, less sexist ways of conveying the same message. Moments after the call by the female singer, the stage was filled with dancing bodies. I watched in astonishment while she struggled to maintain even the smallest space on the stage in order to perform. The same popular star, who an hour earlier had dominated the crowd’s full attention while they watched mesmerized from their tables, was now virtually pushed off the stage, her voice serving a mere supporting role to the audience’s bodily exuberance. These two phases of the old-school laiko show represent a cycle of reciprocity and a transformation of power roles. During the “first programme”, audience members incarnate a spectorial role of fandom: they abide by strict stage versus seating area management, and they applaud and express their admiration to the popular star in globally recognizable ways. The “second programme”, however, serves a reversal of power both attentively and territorially: the singer is confined to one side of the stage, acting as a facilitator of high spirits (kefi)10 to dancing bodies that claim space and attention for themselves. Performance in a “Modern” Písta In the nightclub season of 2008/2009, I was employed as a keyboard player in the band of Sakis Rouvas, a prominent pop singer. Sakis (he is always referred to by his first name among fans and media) has maintained a vibrant presence in the Greek pop music industry and the media since the early 1990s, some of it fuelled by his turbulent personal life and intense speculation around his sexuality.11 During that season, Sakis was also presenter of the Greek version of the music talent show franchise The X Factor, which augmented his media prominence and added momentum to his live performances. The line-up of Starz, the club where Sakis was performing, was promoted as offsetting the numerous laiko clubs around the city, since it was featuring what were considered to be “modern” acts. This was manifest in the anglicized club name, the song list which included numerous Anglo-American hits, and the make-up of the band which comprised two electric guitars, a saxophone, an electric bass, a drum set, two keyboardists, and – most significantly – no bouzouki. The nightclub’s “modern” and “global” aesthetic was also made visually evident through the display of images from Manhattan’s urban landscape all around the venue’s walls. The management’s preoccupation with conveying a “modern” image concerned even the seating arrangements. After a thorough consideration of how to maximize space and accommodate more customers, the club owners had agreed that couches and small round tables were more appropriate, since

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they would also disassociate the club’s image from the practice of food consumption prevalent in folk music clubs. As if the decoration and repertory were not communicating the “modern” intention clearly enough, the production team also prepared a short video which was shown at the beginning of the “first programme”, containing a tongue-in-cheek aesthetical manifesto. Set to the music from Star Wars, and employing the film’s instantly recognizable scrolling text sequence, the message to the audience read: Once upon a time, many light-years ago, in a tiny little country called Greece, the inhabitants used to enjoy themselves until the wee hours of the morning in these funny nightclubs called bouzoukia. They even had this peculiar custom of tossing flowers towards the singers, to reward them for entertaining them. Huge loads of flowers; sometimes even baskets full of them! But that was when the crisis appeared, hitting the country like a comet. No one celebrated anymore, and the nightlife was covered by deep melancholy. But the light at the end of the tunnel did not take long to appear, in the form of a new club of alternative entertainment called Starz, whose artists were about to pack their bags for Hollywood. But since that was a bit far, they thought of something simpler: to bring Hollywood over here! The short video served the purpose of mocking the competitors (the “funny” nightclubs, bouzoukia), while at the same time promising an “alternative” type of entertainment straight “from Hollywood”. To this end, the programme also featured two well-known female entertainers, the Maggira Sisters, who developed a 30-minute-long parody musical show, mimicking such international artists as Michael Jackson, ABBA, and Amy Winehouse. In fact, the two sisters went so far as to script this whole act in English, a decision that received mixed feedback from the audience, many of whom complained that they missed most of the jokes. In response to this, a few weeks into the season the performers changed the dialogues from English to Greek, but pronounced in what was presumed to be an American accent. The “Hollywood” aesthetic, however, only went so far as not to compromise the profitability of the venue. For example, although the video “manifesto” was openly mocking flower tossing, the club owners were adamant that this practice would be encouraged during performances given its unparalleled lucrativeness. One of the most striking differences between bouzoukia clubs like Muses and the “modern” Starz was the audience’s behaviour. In both settings, the programme was arranged in accordance with the conventional succession of acts: opening act, lesser known singers’ first programme, main singer’s first programme, interval with DJ, second opening act, lesser known singers’ second programme, main singer’s second programme, and a closing set featuring all the artists. At no point, however, was the stage of Starz open for the audience to dance. In fact, as the following section will analyse, strict stage policing was in place to ensure that the artists did not come into physical contact with the spectators. This restriction of access to the stage fundamentally altered the reciprocal relationship intrinsic to the pista experience, while at the same time transforming the singer from a facilitator of entertainment to a star who was to be adored from afar. This transformation was in accordance with the intention to “modernize” the show. I repeatedly heard the club’s managers making it clear that “this is not a skyladiko”,12 where such practices flourish. The imperative of “modernization” was seen as suitable for the demographic of the clientele, which was unmistakably more middle class and Western gazing than the frequenters of a typical bouzoukia club. Sakis’ status as a long-standing sex icon ensured the dominant presence of

Spectatorship in Athenian Nightclubs • 47

female audience members comprising those in their late teens to women in their forties and fifties, as well as a visible representation of gay men, which, augmented by Sakis’ own sexual ambiguity, contradicted some of the heteronormativity typically found in laikes pistes. In this context, the assemblage of “modernizing” aesthetic cues, including the song choices, instrumentation, décor, cultural references in the sketches, dress style of the performers, and seating arrangements, all worked towards a rhetoric of self-affirmation for both the producers and the consumers. While the club declared its “modernity” as juxtaposed to the folk pistes, the spectators affirmed their own deviation from established “folk” practices, and in doing so advertised their cosmopolitanism. Thus, the club’s “modernizing” intention was fulfilled through a circular process: a series of aesthetic cues attesting to the club’s trans-local character attracted audience members anxious to perform their own cosmopolitan self-conception, in turn constituting the club as a space for the congregation of “modern” bodies behaving in a “modern” way. This aesthetic decision, however, was not without economic repercussions. What the owners realized a week after the club’s opening was that many customers tended to depart midway through the show in order to relocate to a “true” (alithini) pista. As soon as this problem was identified, a meeting was arranged between the management, the main artists, and the maestros in order to deal with the issue.13 The club owners’ interpretation was that, as the night progressed and the customers’ alcohol-induced exuberance increased, they went in search of more folkstyle music and the opportunity to dance. This generated a pressing dilemma of aesthetics versus profitability: were they to stay true to their cause of modernizing the Athenian nightlife, or should they succumb to the conventions of the pistes? Their final decision mirrored what they perceived to be a compromise between both imperatives: Sakis, the main singer, would incorporate more “well-known folk songs” (gnosta laika) into his second programme, encouraging the audience to sing along with him; the space segregation between singers and audience, however, was not negotiable. In order to understand the importance of this performative rule, we need to examine the practices of stage policing and their importance in qualifying the performer as “star”. Stage Policing On the first day of our rehearsals in the venue, two months prior to the start of the performance season, I was introduced to Yiorgos, the nightclub’s “stage manager” (the term is used colloquially in English). During the long waiting hours between rehearsals, and while backing instrumentalists were waiting for the – always fashionably late – main singers to arrive, I witnessed Yiorgos fulfilling mundane tasks such as repairing cables, setting up instrument stands, and making sure that stage entrances were clear and secure. Yiorgos was a slim man of average height, extrovert, and with good sense of humour, always managing to keep the crew entertained during the slow, frustrating hours of preparation. On the first night of the performances, however, Yiorgos had clearly adopted a new role. I struggled to recognize him when he entered the backstage area dressed in black and wearing dark glasses. “Have you joined the CIA?” one of the sound engineers joked, but Yiorgos did not look entertained. “I’m here to take chicks off the stage tonight”,14 he replied in what I perceived to be a sarcastic tone, although I could not be entirely sure. During his 25-year-long pop career, Sakis Rouvas had developed a large group of predominantly female followers who were notorious for attempting to get into physical contact with him on stage.15 As was explained to me by the maestros, a long-time collaborator of Sakis’,

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Figure 3.2 On the left, Yiorgos pushing two females off the stage, after they attempted to embrace their idol. Source: Photo by the author.

it was precisely this habit that made the presence of a stage manager vital for the smooth running of the show. Indeed, during the four-month season in Starz, I observed Yiorgos while he escorted hundreds of female fans off the stage, sometimes the same person repeatedly in the course of one performance. While serving practical needs regarding the continuity of the show and the singer’s safety, this practice of stage policing also operated as a strategy which helped the singer to construct his own persona. I regard the duties of the stage manager as a tool that ultimately transforms the performer from a facilitator of kefi (as summarized by the old motto “All the babes on the stage”) to an idolized, literally unreachable “celebrity”. In effect, the removal of fans who attempt to share the stage space with their pop idol at once reconfigures not only the power dynamics of the performer–audience relationship but also the cultural connotations of the performance occasion. Bodily expression, spectators are ultimately told, is acceptable so long as it is confined to the seating area. Audience members may get up from their seats, dance around their tables and stools, project their voices, and toss flowers towards their idol on stage, but the encounter is to remain spatially segregated. As a result, the established reciprocal procedure common in bouzoukia is replaced by a more static and unilateral exchange in the “modern”pista, where the audience and the performer remain in their respective roles as consumers and pop idol throughout the duration of the show.

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Conclusion: Binary Discourses and the Neoliberal Pista In a discussion of how the state asserts dominance within neoliberal polities, Ferguson and Gupta (2002) focus on the twin concepts of “verticality and encompassment”, both of which become symbolically potent through connotations of spatial topography. They argue that “these two metaphors work together to produce a taken-for-granted spatial and scalar image of a state that both sits above and contains its localities, regions, and communities” (2002: 982). The “modern” pista aims to constitute a similar authority of verticality and encompassment by enforcing stricter topographies of participation, where the old ritual of reciprocity is substituted by an institutionalization of stricter roles that are to be maintained, both behaviourally and spatially, throughout the performance. By tracing the changes in spectatorship from the bouzoukia to the “modern” Athenian pistes, this chapter has identified a transformation in the roles of audiences and performers in Greek popular nightlife. What I have suggested is that a seemingly minor reconfiguration of performance space, namely restricting the audience’s access to the stage for dancing, captures a number of social preoccupations central to Greek cultural intimacies.16 As clubs are increasingly keeping audiences off the stage, music industry stakeholders are asserting their power in order to shape a new kind of spectacle. Yet, this modification of performance conventions in effect relates to a series of familiar dichotomies. These may be temporal insofar as artists present the new circumstances within a continuum of “old-fashioned” versus “current”. As the Starz debates have shown, binaries can also be geopolitical with reference to discourses of “parochial” versus “metropolitan”, or “Eastern” versus “Euro-American”. Finally, they invoke socio-economic distinctions through a language of aesthetics, where the “tasteful” modern club is juxtaposed to the “decadent” or “trashy” skyladiko.17 Furthermore, as this chapter has illustrated, this performative transformation is related to a wider effort towards the disembodiment of the music industry in which the diverse implicated actors are invested for often contradictory reasons. Reference to neoliberalism in this context does not imply an alignment between the ideologies of the Greek neoliberal political elite and the practices of the pista, even though some continuities between the two could be articulated.18 Rather, I am concerned with neoliberalism as “a new understanding of human nature and social existence” within an “intersection of power, concepts, modes of existence and subjectivity” (Read 2009: 26). In this sense, I see a twofold impact of neoliberalism upon the pista experience: a preoccupation with the maintenance of “consumption zones” (Harvey 2007: 147) and an emphasis on mediation and distance. As Auslander (1999) has argued, neoliberal capitalism often promotes visual, mediatized representations over unmediated interactive experience, since the former can be marketed more successfully.19 In this effort, the production of new relationships between “pop idol” and “fan” can be both more profitable and easier to maintain than the fluid, reciprocal interaction existing in laikes pistes. The increasing spatial division between “stars” and audiences facilitates the emphasis on the visual (and virtual) aspects of the show, the introduction of more efficient audio technologies, and the assertion of more professional control over the course of the performance event. This shift towards the mediatized event, however, cannot be radical and complete. As the economic repercussions in Starz club has illustrated, the cultural intimacies of the Greek laikes pistes are pleasurable enough to convince audiences to search elsewhere if they are not satisfied by the venue where they find themselves. In a music industry where popular stars need to continuously reaffirm their relationship with audiences through live performance events, the

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decision not to allow “babes on the stage” can give rise to unpredictable intersections between socio-cultural aesthetics, neoliberal capitalism, and musical performance. Notes 1 2

3 4 5 6 7 8 9

10 11 12 13 14 15 16 17 18 19

See Tragaki (2005, 2007), Kallimopoulou (2009), Papanikolaou (2007), and Holst-Warhaft (2002). The term laikes derives from the music genre that dominates the programme, the so-called laiko, which is an urban folk song style that developed out of rebetiko from the 1950s onward. Bouzouki, the plucked lute-type instrument, has been so strongly identified as a marker of this style that its name often stands for the whole circuit of entertainment around the laiko genre. Following the vernacular, I will use the terms laikes pístes and bouzoukia interchangeably in the chapter to designate the nightclubs featuring laiko song and dance. During the year of my ethnographic fieldwork in 2008/2009, entrance fees ranged from 10 to 20 euro per person. Employee responsible for greeting the customers and allocating tables. For a more focused discussion of the nightclub experience from an instrumentalist’s perspective, see Tsioulakis (2013). These rumours intensified when, a mere few weeks after my visit, the club owner was gunned down outside his establishment. On the forms of capital and their relationship to symbolic power, see Bourdieu (1986). In my engagement with Athenian nightclubs I never came across a female maestros (the noun itself is grammatically masculine). This, however, is reflective of the general demographic of professional instrumentalists within the popular music industry who are in their overwhelming majority male. A similarly widespread practice among backing vocalists was to sing from the dressing-rooms backstage. A colleague of mine once suggested that she would gladly do it from home if the necessary technology was available. Keil (Keil et al. 2002: 95) similarly explains how Roma musicians in Greek Macedonia are seen as instrumental in facilitating kefi, despite their low social status within wider society. Greek media in the late 1990s and early 2000s repeatedly reported stories about the alleged relationship with his male manager, but at the time when I was employed in his band, Sakis was married to a female fashion model who had just given birth to their first child. Literally “dog’s den”, a pejorative term for populist laiko clubs that are perceived as “lower-class” entertainment. These private discussions were reported to us lower-ranking instrumentalists later by the maestros, and only to the extent that the decisions affected our performance. An overplay of masculinity, often manifest in sexist language, is common within the homo-social environment of male instrumentalists and technicians. These female fans are often referred to in popular slang as rouvitses (roughly translating as “Rouvas’s little girls”) and are infamous for their extreme displays of adoration towards him. Some of this behaviour, however, is engaged with ironically, especially by some of his earlier fans who are now well into their forties. Stokes (2010: 13–25) has shown how the rise of gasinos, the Turkish popular music clubs, captured local cultural intimacies with ambiguous connections to Islam, the state, and the emergence of neoliberalism. For an in-depth analysis of aesthetics as a strategy for social distinction, see Bourdieu (1984). Öykü Potuoğlu-Cook (2006) has illustrated that intersections between neoliberalism and Islamism in Istanbul have direct effects on the way in which the bodily performance of belly-dancing becomes a field for the production of gender and class discrimination. Thomas Turino (2008) presents a similar juxtaposition between what he calls “presentational” and “participatory” performance, which he connects to the professionalization and marketability of music-making.

Bibliography Auslander, Peter. 1999. Liveness: Performance in a Mediatized Culture. London: Routledge. Bourdieu, Pierre. 1984. Distinction: A Social Critique of the Judgment of Taste. Cambridge, MA: Harvard University Press. Bourdieu, Pierre. 1986. “The Forms of Capital.” In Handbook of Theory and Research for the Sociology of Education ed. J.G. Richardson. New York: Greenwood Press, pp. 46–58. Ferguson, James and Akhil, Gupta. 2002. “Spatializing States: Toward an Ethnography of Neoliberal Governmentality.” American Ethnologist 29(4): 981–1002. Harvey, D. 2007. A Brief History of Neoliberalism. Oxford: Oxford University Press. Herzfeld, Michael. 1987. Anthropology through the Looking-Glass: Critical Ethnography in the Margins of Europe. Cambridge: Cambridge University Press. Holst-Warhaft, G. 2002. “Politics and Popular Music in Modern Greece.” Journal of Political and Military Sociology 30(2): 292–323. Kallimopoulou, E. 2009. Paradosiaka: Music, Meaning and Identity in Modern Greece. Farnham, Surrey, and Burlington, VT: Ashgate.

Spectatorship in Athenian Nightclubs • 51 Keil, Charles, Dick Blau, Angelliki Vellou-Keil, and Steven Feld. 2002. Bright Balkan Morning: Romani Lives and the Power of Music in Greek Macedonia. Middletown, CT: Wesleyan University Press. Papanikolaou, Dimitris. 2007. Singing Poets: Literature and Popular Music in France and Greece. London: Legenda. Potuoğlu-Cook, Öykü. 2006. “Beyond the Glitter: Belly Dance and Neoliberal Gentrification in Istanbul.” Cultural Anthropology 21(4): 633–660. Read, Jason. 2009. “A Genealogy of Homo-Economicus: Neoliberalism and the Production of Subjectivity.” Foucault Studies 6: 25–36. Stokes, Martin. 2010. The Republic of Love: Cultural Intimacy in Turkish Popular Music. Chicago, IL: University of Chicago Press. Tragaki, Dafni. 2005. “‘Humanizing the Masses’: Enlightened Intellectuals and the Music of the People.” In The Mediterranean in Music: Critical Perspectives, Common Concerns, Cultural Differences ed. D. Cooper and K. Dawe. Lanham, MD: Scarecrow Press, pp. 49–73. Tragaki, Dafni. 2007. Rebetiko Worlds. Ethnomusicology and Ethnography in the City. Newcastle: Cambridge Scholars Publishing. Tsioulakis, Ioannis. 2013. “The Quality of Mutuality: Jazz Musicians in the Athenian Popular Music Industry.” In Musical Performance and the Changing City: Post-Industrial Contexts in Europe and the United States, ed. Carsten Wergin and Fabian Holt. New York: Routledge, pp. 200–224. Turino, Thomas. 2008. Music as Social Life: The Politics of Participation. Chicago, IL: University of Chicago Press.

PART

II

Art Song Trajectories Preamble What is the “popular” of the “art-popular” song, and where are its boundaries with “art”? A useful starting point in order to understand the supposed contradiction inherent in the “artpopular” song poetics is the exploration of the contested narratives and strategies for the production of “art song”and its polysemic positioning in the collective imaginary. While it departs from the pista scene discussed in Part I, entechno (art song) became a lingering dilemma of musical Greekness and the “neohellenic”, either in the regime of 1960s’ emancipatory dicourses of musical creativity, in the context of radical experimentations signaling what was often percieved to be a “new” era for Greek music history, or in its recent trajectories in the realm of re-edited traditions and “world” fusions. The multiplicity of aesthetics and discourses defining entechno, from its invention and ideological branding to its contemporary reconfigurations, and no less to its recent negation as a problematic label by contemporary major representatives of the scene, transform what may otherwise be considered a generic genre – and no less a legitimate paradox – into a seemingly floating signifier. Nonetheless, its liminal pathways and alignments in the Greek musical production, its diverse entanglement with Greek cultural elites and with critical historical moments next to its enduring popular appeal and broad mediation, ascribed entechno a distinguished place in the canon of Greek music. In Chapter 4, Tambakaki introduces Mikis Theodorakis’ ventures in the making of “artpopular” song during the 1960s, mapping at the same time his relations with the acclaimed poets Giannis Ritsos, Odysseus Elytis, and George Seferis, whose poems he set to music. The entechno-laiko experiment is explored in association with Theodorakis’ profiling as a renowned academic composer, an influential cultural figure, and an active Leftist, including in his music (which was censored) and writings the experiences of prosecution and exile, his communist art ideology, as well as his patriotic and internationalist aspirations manifested within the postwar turbulent political scene. The genre realized his vision of “high-art for the masses”, as well as his ideas for a “National School of Music” serving at the same time as an educational medium for the “people”. This vision was additionally promoted by the invention of the “popular oratorio” set to poetry by Elytis, who, however, was ambivalent, Tambakaki argues, towards Theodorakis’ musical settings. The popularization of Seferis’ poetry through the famous song “Arnisi” (Denial) further disclosed the highly politicized framework defining the invention of “art-popular” song that was variously debated and questioned, gaining, nonetheless, enormous popularity inside and outside the country. Theodorakis’ experiments with the interconnections between music and achieved poetry enhanced the authoritativeness of his own “art-popular” project while channeling poetry to mass audiences, thus constituting, the author concludes, the image of Greece as “a country of bards”. An equally towering figure in Greek music history is Manos Hadjidakis, who unlike Theodorakis was disconnected from a wider political project creating, as Kanellopoulos stresses

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in Chapter 5, an “impossible topos”. Kanellopoulos ventures a reading of Hadjidakis’ work in the light of the Ranciérian notion of “dissensus” bringing forward questions addressing the postwar modernist aesthetics of his work understood here as a cultural practice. Hadjidakis’ diverse musical world staged creative antinomies as the author suggests, that defined, according to the author, the production of his “impossible topos” as one troubled by the modernist ambivalence towards popular culture. He thus rendered visible the existence of a deep conflict over what is meant by musical value, “popular”, “mass”, and “cultured” music, over the relationship between people and music, the artist and her/his public, creativity and tradition, personal voice and collective manifestations, artistic freedom and institutional engagement. The exploration of Meghalos Erotikos (The Great Erotic) song cycle exemplifies here Hadjidakis’ contested position between “high” and “low” art, within and without the modernist notion of the musical “work”, his at once disengagement from any political agenda, and his embracement of “genuine” resistance strategies, his institutional involvement in tune with the retention of his artistic autonomy. Hadjidakis, the author concludes, legitimized a special version of “high” modernism creating a form of “aesthetic dissensus”, providing space for forms of political subjectification that are yet to be realized. In Chapter 6, Varelopoulos draws our attention to a rather neglected aspect of entechno production from the 1980s onward; that is, its formation within the recording studio technoculture. The discussion focuses on the processes of amagalmation and hybridization defining entechno aesthetics which the author traces from the late 1970s up until the early 2000s, highlighting the impact of new technologies introduced into the recording studio as entechno was gradually commoditized. The recording studio became the prime site for the production of its global aesthetics entwined with local music practices. The metamorphosis of entechnolaiko to entechno genre, for Varelopoulos, is exemplified in the discussion of four case studies located at the juncture between past and present forms: (1) the renegotiation of “oriental” traditions in Nikos Xydakis’ and Manolis Rasoulis’ I Ekdikisi tis Gyftias (The Revenge of Gypsyness); (2) the entechno-rock aesthetics of the album Aspromavres Istories (Black and White Stories) by Sokratis Malamas; (3) the postmodern revisiting of the “roots” by Orfeas Peridis and Thanasis Papakonstantinou, and (4) the work of Alkinoos Ioannidis, who appropriated, for the author, all the three previous trends. Despite its fragmentation as a generic category, the entechno scene today is defined by common aesthetic norms developed and applied in the recording studio; it is an approach, for Varelopoulos, to music-making and sound production worked through continuous experimentation with local traditions, “ethnic” and/or “Western” sounds.

4 “Art-Popular” Song and Modern Greek Poets – Interactions and Ideologies The Case of Mikis Theodorakis Polina Tambakaki

Mikis Theodorakis (b. 1925) is perhaps the most renowned composer of music “made in Greece”, as famous as the protagonist of Zorba the Greek, the 1964 film by Michael Cacoyannis, based on the homonymous novel by Nikos Kazantzakis. The music of the film, and of course the famous syrtaki danced by Zorba (Anthony Quinn) and “the Boss” (Alan Bates) at the end of the film, was by Theodorakis. An impressive, tall man and a towering cultural figure, Theodorakis is a combination of various elements, which he embodies in a characteristically exuberant way. He has a musical education at the highest level, but he also promotes himself as the image of the inspired, quasi-self-taught musician. His vision combines tradition and revolution, and is fervently nationalist and internationalist in equal measure. All this is reflected in both his music and his theoretical writing. In the latter, for example, one finds, on the one hand, polemic arguments for a “‘high art’ for the masses”, and, on the other, analyses of the “Universal Harmony”, which Theodorakis conceives of as a modern restatement of the theories of Anaximander, Heraclitus, and, above all, Pythagoras. As for his music, suffice it to pause at the late 1950s, a period which signals Theodorakis’ international recognition as a brilliant young composer of art music and at the same time the beginning of a new era in Greek popular music. In 1957 Theodorakis was awarded first prize at the International Festival of Young Composers in Moscow with Dmitri Shostakovich as president of the judging committee, and two years later the Copley Music Prize at the suggestion of Darius Milhaud. In that same year, 1959, he was lauded for his ballet Antigone at Covent Garden. He also composed music for films, among them the “Honeymoon Song” for Honeymoon (Luna De Miel) by Michael Powell, which would also be performed by The Beatles. But what was to be a watershed not only in his career but also in Greek musical life was his composition of the song cycle Epitaphios. As Theodorakis graphically described later on, he wrote it on a rainy day in 1958 in Paris while waiting for his wife in his car. He had taken with him Giannis Ritsos’ poem with the same title and after the first reading he was overflowing with inspiration. The setting of Epitaphios to music is connected with the consolidation of the genre for which Theodorakis is most famous: the entechno laiko tragoudi, the “art-popular song”. Its very name reflects the aspiration of combining “art” and “popular” music, “high” and “low” art. What constituted the kernel of this genre and Theodorakis’ cultural ideology were popular musical settings of verses by recognized Greek poets, with the

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aim of creating a genuine “modern Greek sound”, as Theodorakis conceives of it: the sound that conveys the “essence of our tradition which ultimately comes from Byzantium and antiquity” (Theodorakis 1982: 116). In the years to come, many “art-popular” songs would be created by other Greek composers as well. In 1976 in a short introduction to an interview in the French newspaper Le Monde with the poet Odysseus Elytis, whose Axion Esti had gained wide popularity thanks to Theodorakis’ homonymous “popular-oratorio”, the writer Vassilis Alexakis wrote: Greek poets are happy: it is not a rare phenomenon for their works to be sold in ten or even twenty thousand copies. In France, books of poetry are published in a much lower number of copies. But in Greece, poems that might be considered among the most difficult become known by all strata of the population thanks to their settings to music by composers such as Theodorakis, Hadjidakis, Markopoulos or Mamangakis. (Elytis 2011: 141) From Paris to the “Art-Popular” Song: “My Greek Sensibility Feels More Than Restricted; It Feels Betrayed” For Theodorakis, a melodist as he characterizes himself, the setting of poetry to music started together with his first steps in music at the age of 12. Theodorakis’ family lived in various provincial towns of Greece owing to the frequent transfers of his father, a lawyer and civil servant. As a schoolboy, Theodorakis took music lessons, participated in local choirs, and chanted in church. His interest in Byzantine music dated from these years and would be evident in his work. Theodorakis completed his musical studies at the Athens Conservatoire in 1950 following a series of interruptions caused by the political persecutions during the civil war, which broke out in Greece after World War II and lasted until 1949. Theodorakis had already taken part in the Resistance during the German occupation and had committed himself to the Left. In 1954 he managed to go to Paris to continue his studies (among his teachers was Olivier Messiaen). The Paris years not only made him a highly accomplished composer of art music but they also gave him the opportunity to define what he was searching for as a Greek composer. For, as he said in an interview in 1960, he felt “unable to follow strictly any of the aesthetic trends prevailing in the West [within which] my Greek sensibility feels more than restricted: it feels betrayed” (Theodorakis 1986: 124–125, quoted in trans. Papanikolaou 2007: 80). The musical setting of the poem Epitaphios by Ritsos, a renowned, engaged poet of the Left, has been seen as the beginning of a new phase in Theodorakis’ artistic life and also in Greek music. Ever since he first came across a poem by Ritsos, namely Earini Symphonia (Spring Symphony), a hymn to love, Theodorakis had felt a great admiration for the poet.1 The ideological affinity, which was soon to be added to this admiration, made Epitaphios the ideal vehicle for what Theodorakis conceived of as his mission: to use “authentically” Greek musical modes in order to “turn poetry into blood in the veins of the people” (Theodorakis 1982: 15). Ritsos’ long poem was inspired by the bloody events that took place in the town of Thessaloniki in May 1936 during workers’ demonstrations, and is the lament of a mother for her young son who was shot dead. It is written in the traditional 15-syllable metre of folk poetry, combining the dirge of the folk tradition with religious connotations of the “Epitaphios” (Good Friday Lament) of the Byzantine tradition. Theodorakis’ song cycle Epitaphios marked the composer’s return from Paris and his firm establishment as a key figure in Greek cultural life. The double, almost simultaneous, release

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of “Epitaphios” in 1960 by two antagonistic record companies and in two different orchestrations, together with the debates that followed, helped enormously in getting Theodorakis’ project to achieve the maximum possible impact. The first release of the song cycle was in the summer of 1960, and its orchestration bore the signature of Manos Hadjidakis (1925–1994), a composer of the same age as Theodorakis, who was already a recognized cultural figure (see Kanellopoulos, Chapter 5, this volume). The two composers were friends and shared many common views about music and the need for “making it new” in Greek musical life. But they had significant differences as well. This became evident in the clearest way in the second release of Epitaphios, which followed just a few weeks afterwards. This time the orchestration was by Theodorakis himself. The double release marked the beginning of a period that was to be called the “Greece of the two composers” (Papanikolaou 2007: 61-2), and put the bouzouki and the genre of rebetiko at the centre of discussions about the nature of music “made in Greece”. For the bouzouki and the performers were the most striking differences between the two orchestrations. Hadjidakis’ version was more lyrical, sung by the gentle voice of Nana Mouskouri, a favourite singer of his, and did not use the bouzouki. By contrast, Theodorakis’ version made the bouzouki its central feature (the leading bouzouki player was the virtuoso Manolis Hiotis), and was sung by Grigoris Bithikotsis, a male rebetiko voice. Rebetiko had been attacked by intellectuals and members of the middle and upper classes for being the music of the urban low-life milieu and for its strong Eastern overtones. However, in the last two and a half decades prior to 1960 it had also gained a wider audience and acceptance thanks to Vassilis Tsitsanis, a songwriter and bouzouki player, and Hadjidakis himself, who gave a seminal lecture on rebetiko in 1949 and used it in his “serious” music. As for the bouzouki, during the 1950s it had become a trademark of popular entertainment and a tourist attraction, as is evident in Greek films of the period: for example, Stella, a 1955 film by Cacoyannis with Melina Merkouri in the role of a rebetiko singer, and Never on Sunday by Jules Dassin, again with Merkouri in the protagonist role. The latter film was released in the US in the autumn of 1960, almost simultaneously with the second release of Epitaphios. Hadjidakis had composed the songs for both films, winning the Oscar for best original song for Never on Sunday. But despite his popular songs (or rather because of them), Hadjidakis was reluctant to use the bouzouki in the musical setting of Ritsos’ poetry. Theodorakis, by contrast, made a powerful statement about his vision for the “art-popular” song, or “‘high art’ for the masses”, precisely by making the bouzouki the central instrument of his orchestration. In the islands of his exile (Ikaria and Makronissos) during the civil war, Theodorakis was deeply impressed by the rebetiko songs sung by other detainees, which he collected and studied systematically. His orchestration of Epitaphios drew upon these experiences, and played a key role in the acceptance of rebetiko by the Communist Party, which up until that point had maintained a generally negative stance. Theodorakis took pains to explain how rebetiko was a true expression of poetic essence and that zeibekiko (the main dance linked with rebetiko) was associated with the traditional 15-syllable metre of folk songs, in which Ritsos’ poem Epitaphios was also written. From 1960 onward Theodorakis’ involvement in politics was great, leading to new exiles during the 1967 to 1974 army-backed dictatorship, known as the Junta of the Colonels. Before that, in 1963, in the wake of the assassination of Grigoris Lambrakis, a deputy with the United Democratic Left Party (Enomeni Dimokratiki Aristera, EDA; the Communist Party had been outlawed since 1947), the Lambrakis Youth Organization was formed and Theodorakis was elected as its president. The following year Theodorakis himself was elected as an EDA deputy.

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This was also a highly creative period for him, with “art-popular” song being the kernel of his cultural-political agenda. He set to music poems by well-known poets (e.g. Epiphania, 1962, by George Seferis; Axion Esti, 1964, by Odysseus Elytis; Romiosyni, 1966, again by Ritsos). He composed songs for films (e.g. for Phaedra, 1962, by Jules Dassin, starring Merkouri and Anthony Perkins) and theatrical works. Of the latter, the songs Theodorakis composed for the Greek 1962 staging of Brendan Behan’s play The Hostage, and in particular “To Gelasto Paidi” (The Smiling Boy), would become (especially following the assassination of Grigoris Lambrakis) a symbol of the struggle of the Left and of resistance during the Junta of the Colonels.2 With the establishment of the Junta, Theodorakis’ music was immediately banned, and he himself was arrested, sent to jail, or held in confinement. In 1970 he eventually went into exile outside Greece. Theodorakis composed new works, which he presented, together with his old ones, at tours all over the world. His songs made Greek poetry and music the vehicle for the promotion of a patriotic as well as an internationalist spirit, which united peoples from different countries and repressive regimes in their common longing and struggle for freedom. During that period, in 1971, while on a tour in Chile at the invitation of its socialist President Salvador Allende, Theodorakis discovered the Canto General by Pablo Neruda, the communist Chilean poet-diplomat who would win the Nobel Prize for literature that same year. The Canto General, this “lengthy epic on man’s struggle for justice in the New World” (de Costa 1982: 60), became Theodorakis’ second “popular oratorio”, a counterpart in Spanish of his first one in Greek, the Axion Esti. The same year that Theodorakis discovered Neruda’s Canto General, another event in Greece bore witness, in the most impressive way, to the impact of Theodorakis’ “art-popular” project. In September 1971 the poet George Seferis died. Seferis, the 1963 Nobel Laureate, was deeply influenced by “high” modernists, especially T.S. Eliot, and his poetry was considered distinctly difficult. His profile as a high-ranking diplomat had made him seem even more aloof in the eyes of the general public. This image changed dramatically in March 1969 when Seferis broke his silence and, through the BBC Greek Service, made a statement against the dictatorship: I am a man without any political affiliation, and I can therefore speak without fear or passion. I see ahead of me the precipice toward which the oppression that has shrouded the country is leading us. This anomaly must cease. It is the nation’s command. (Seferis 1992: 262) This statement by itself could have turned the funeral of the internationally renowned poet into an impressive peaceful demonstration against the dictatorship. But Theodorakis’ banned music added an indelible tone to the solemn ceremony when, as the dead poet was carried to his final resting place, the crowd in the streets, and again in the cemetery, sang Theodorakis’ setting of the poem “Arnisi” (Denial) from Seferis’ first (1931) collection Strophi (Turning Point). This was the most popular song from Theodorakis’ song cycle Epiphania based on Seferis’ poetry. When it was first presented in late 1961, it was even hailed by the young influential scholar and friend of Seferis, George Savidis, as the new “Xanthoula” (The Little Blond Girl), a remark that pointed directly to the double image of the national poet/national musician. “Xanthoula” was a very popular song based on a poem with the same title by Dionysios Solomos, which was set to music by Nikolaos Mantzaros. They were the poet and the composer respectively of the Ymnos eis tin Elephtherian (Hymn to Liberty) (1825), whose first stanzas have been the Greek national anthem since 1865. However, as we will see below, Theodorakis’ setting of “Arnisi”

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would also be remembered for Seferis’ objections over the rendering of the poem’s last two lines. These objections, together with the song’s role at Seferis’ funeral, made it one of the most representative examples of the challenges the “art-popular” song posed for both musicians and poets, and the tensions it created between them. It is not hard to see that Theodorakis’ “art-popular” project had a clear educational edge. Theodorakis aspired to create a “truly Greek School of Music”, which would bring the Greek People (as he often writes in capital letters) into contact with the best poetic works in the Greek language, at the same time ennobling the impulsive and passionate “popular” music (as exemplified in the case of rebetiko) to the status of “art” (Tragaki 2005: 64). His educational aspiration was first expressed in the years 1959 to 1960 within the context of art music, with two articles arguing for a reorganization of the existing musical system and a new artistic vision. The main object of Theodorakis’ criticism was the so-called “National School of Music”. Its leader, the art composer Manolis Kalomiris, had firmly established his cultural programme since 1908, when he presented his work at a concert in the Athens Conservatoire, accompanying it with a passionate manifesto. But despite the attack launched by Theodorakis there was definitely a common ground between the two “Schools”: Kalomiris’ old “art” school and Theodorakis’ new “art-popular” school. As the music critic Giorgos Leotsakos wrote in 1974: “Mikis . . . seems to have achieved what was a far-away dream for old-Kalomiris” (Theodorakis 1982: 177). Poetry was a permanent point of reference and inspiration for Kalomiris as well, and the support of the leading poetic figure of the period, Kostis Palamas (1859–1943), was of crucial importance in his cultural agenda. Palamas had hailed Kalomiris’ concert in 1908 with a poem dedicated to him: “With you, rhythm is an open sea | poetry is the boat | Do make it . . . | verses and sounds to become couple again! . . . Hail, and joy to you!” But if Palamas was so positive in his reactions, the poets whose poems Theodorakis set to music were more ambivalent, at different stages, to one or another degree, and for various reasons. Ritsos and Poetry “Out in the Clear Open Air” When he first listened to Theodorakis’ orchestration of his poem Epitaphios, Ritsos (1909–1990) expressed reservations, sharing the Communist Party’s negative stance towards rebetiko. He himself was a highly cultured poet who played the piano and used musical titles for his poems, many of them borrowed from Western art music: Earini Symphonia (Spring Symphony, 1938), the poem which fascinated the young Theodorakis, and Sonata tou Selinophotos (Moonlight Sonata, 1956) are two famous examples. But the sensation which Theodorakis’ orchestration created, together with the ideological underpinning of his “art-popular” project, soon made Ritsos change his mind. In 1982, in his prologue to the collection of Theodorakis’ articles under the title Machomeni Koultoura (Fighting Culture), Ritsos would praise Theodorakis’ contribution to poetry: “With his music, he brought it out from the dark, sober libraries, out in the clear open air, and on the table of the people, next to their bread and drink” (Theodorakis 1982: 10). And he added in a manner reminiscent of the closure of Palamas’ poem for Kalomiris: “What to say of Mikis? Just an endless applause and a big ‘Hail Mikis! Here’s to you!’” Of the left-wing poets whose work Theodorakis set to music, Ritsos (who would be awarded the Lenin Peace Prize in 1977) was undeniably the most famous both within and outside Greece, and a sort of paternal figure.3 But Theodorakis set to music poems by poets beyond the political spectrum of the Left. Elytis and Seferis, the two Greek Nobel Laureates, were the most prominent among them.

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Elytis’ Axion Esti and Theodorakis’ First “Popular Oratorio” Elytis (1911–1996) was a lyrical poet with a surrealist pedigree, who also took great care with poetic form. His poem Axion Esti (Worthy It Is), published in 1959, is a lengthy epic on the role of the poet, his creative powers, and his interaction with history, with an emphasis on Greece’s recent past, especially the periods of the Greek–Italian War (1940–1941), the German occupation (1941–1944), and the civil war (1944, 1946–1949). Elytis himself had fought and came close to death on the Albanian front in 1940/1941. The poem has a complex and at the same time an austere structure, with lyrical and prose parts, and rich and bold imagery and language, which also draw upon the folk and Byzantine tradition. The latter is evident from the poem’s very title: Axion Esti is the name of an icon of, and a Byzantine hymn to, the Virgin Mary, and is also heard in a Good Friday encomium to Christ. “The equivalent in this poem to the Christian Resurrection is the triumph of poetic language, as the poet finally creates a better world by exultantly naming its parts and declaring them ‘worthy’” (Beaton 1999: 210). Theodorakis characterized his musical setting “popular oratorio-metasymphonic”, wishing to show “not so much the temporal distance between the Western and modern Greek music but above all the qualitative difference” (Theodorakis 1972: 33). When the Axion Esti was first published in book form in 1960, Elytis wrote to Theodorakis, ascribing a clear musical aspiration to his poem and endorsing Theodorakis’ project: “I have had the same dream as you for a long time: to organize big musico-poetic campaigns in the countryside – why not in ancient theatres as well?” (quoted in Greek in Papanikolaou 2012: 315). The publication of the Axion Esti following a poetic silence of almost 15 years was accompanied by Elytis’ great anxiety about the reception of his work. As Mario Vitti says, Elytis was so impatient that “he was eager to offer any help with his poem to anyone who would show the slightest interest” (Vitti 1999: 10). The anxiety was soon to be appeased. The award of the 1960 State Prize of Poetry was the highest recognition by the official establishment, and Theodorakis’ “popular oratorio”, first presented in 1964, would bring Elytis’ difficult poetry close to the “Greek People”. Elytis would become another “national poet” and in 1979 he was awarded the Nobel Prize for Literature. Elytis never spoke negatively about Theodorakis’ musical settings of his work, but through the years a more reserved tone may be detected in his words in comparison to his 1960 letter to Theodorakis. In an interview on the occasion of winning the Nobel Prize, he said of the Axion Esti: Although I believe that Mikis Theodorakis’ music helped its contact with a wide popular audience, I think that we must not identify the poetic work with its musical setting. Tomorrow someone else might write electronic music for the Axion Esti equally well. (Elytis 2011: 186) In Elytis’ collected essays, Anoichta Chartia (Open Papers) and En Leuko (Carte Blanche), there are not many references to music and musicians. Elytis’ major interest, other than poetry, was painting, not music. There are however two references worthy of attention. The first is a relatively lengthy description of Elytis’ first meeting with the young Hadjidakis and the great impression the latter made upon him. The second is an imaginary dialogue with Theodorakis, in a text published for the first time in 1992. Elytis wrote next to the date 1971:

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Where might [Theodorakis] be now, where has he been put by the colonels, in what cell? Has he been tortured by the gendarmes? . . . “No” he answers, and his pale face looks calm and abstracted; “I was writing music. I have prepared a whole ode by Andreas Kalvos, and I am working on a poem by Sikelianos.” (Elytis 1992: 379) Indeed, during the first years of the Junta, while in confinement in Greece, Theodorakis had set to music, among other poems, the major 1945 work “Pnevmatiko Emvatirio” (March of the Spirit) by Angelos Sikelianos (1884–1951), and some odes by Kalvos (1792–1869), written in praise of the 1821 Greek war of independence.4 But neither in the above reference to Theodorakis, nor in the few others he made in passing in his essays, did Elytis mention Theodorakis’ musical settings of his own poetry. A telling exception comes from his poetry: in the collection O Mikros Naphtilos (The Little Seafarer), the musical setting by Theodorakis of the section “Doxastikon” (Gloria) from the Axion Esti is referred to in the part “Otto Tis Eratai – O Taxidiotikos Sakos” (What One Loves – The Travelling Bag). But if Elytis’ ambivalence towards Theodorakis’ highly influential musical settings of his poetry is not easily detected in his published writings, this is not the case with Seferis, a poet who had a special relationship with art music.5 Seferis’ “Arnisi” (Denial) and Theodorakis’ “Sto Perigiali to Krypho” (On the Secret Seashore): The Missing Semicolon, Politics, and Artistic Ownership Theodorakis has given in detail his own account of his first meeting with Seferis. In the autumn of 1960, when his 1959 ballet Antigone was produced for a further season at Covent Garden, Theodorakis invited Seferis, who had been the Greek ambassador in London since 1957, to attend the final rehearsal.6 Seferis was so impressed that he expressed his wish for a new ballet by Theodorakis with his own scenario. Theodorakis suggested instead that he write songs based on Seferis’ poetry, following the example of Epitaphios which had just been released in its two versions. At their next meeting, Theodorakis played on the piano his musical settings of Seferis’ poems: “When I finished playing the last song . . . I saw in his eyes the glint of a writer who was happy to see the new shape his poetry had suddenly taken” (Theodorakis 2000: 6–8). Theodorakis had also brought with him the first version of Epitaphios in Hadjidakis’ orchestration and with Mouskouri singing, rather than the second one with his own rebetiko-style orchestration: “I was afraid that the popular album with Bithikotsis would be too much for him”, he wrote. It was however in an orchestration similar to that of the second Epitaphios, again with Hiotis on the bouzouki and Bithikotsis singing, that the song cycle based on Seferis’ poetry entitled Epiphania (after the title of one of the poems) was presented in late 1961. The record was released in early 1962. “Among Greeks the world over, Theodorakis’ setting of ‘Denial’ has come to acquire the status of an unofficial national anthem” (Beaton 2003: 363). In fact “Denial” has been better known by its song title “Sto Perigiali to Krypho” (On the Secret Seashore) from the poem’s first line. Savidis was thus to prove right in his prediction in the article which he wrote, as we saw, immediately after the presentation of the song cycle, where he compared Seferis/Theodorakis’ “Arnisi” with Solomos/Mantzaros’ “Xanthoula”. Yet Seferis’ reaction when he first heard the record was not very positive. In a letter to Savidis, he wrote:

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I didn’t much like it. Maybe that’s the fault of freezing London. “Arnisi” seems better than the rest, which seem to me a bit garbled, missing the meaning. But even in “Arnisi,” the lack of a pause before the word “wrong” makes nonsense of the last verse. Unfortunately, Th[eodorakis] thinks he knows everything . . . Forgive me, my dear George, but I’ve a different idea of the craftsman. (January 1962; from Seferis’ archive, quoted in translation in Beaton 2003: 362) In his article following the first presentation of Epiphania, Savidis had already referred to the problem of the “missing semicolon” in the penultimate line of the poem: “we lived our lives; wrongly!” Theodorakis himself would later do the same, adding however: “But how significant this [missing semicolon] might be for the people, who, in varying degrees, had indeed lived their lives wrongly.” Theodorakis would also describe how happy Seferis was when in the summer of 1962, and in the composer’s company, he heard “Arnisi” being sung almost everywhere, in tavernas and on the streets, in the neighbourhood of Plaka, below the Acropolis (Theodorakis 2000: 7–8). Understandably, Theodorakis was very upset by the posthumous publication of the aforementioned letter of Seferis to Savidis and the former’s text “Cheirographo Okt. ’68” (Manuscript Oct. ’68), which contained Seferis’ reservations about Theodorakis’ musical settings and even presented him as a musician-politician who sought and knew how to exploit situations for his own publicity (Seferis 1992: 257). How might we explain these conflicting statements? Undeniably, there seems to be a political dimension. Seferis was politically rather conservative and, above all, he felt and showed an “ineffable aversion” to party mechanisms following a long career as a civil servant (Seferis 1984: 304). This had added a further significance to the “Statement” he made in 1969 against the dictatorship, as we have seen. There were of course purely poetic reasons as well, the most famous being the “missing semicolon”. Although the semicolon had also been missing in literary studies or editions (e.g. in the influential 1933 Anthology by Apostolidis), the popularity of Theodorakis’ setting established a specific “reading” of Seferis’ poem, which despite its simple form has a subtle and rich web of allusions, a blueprint of Seferis’ poetry (Tambakaki 2013). Moreover, Seferis always placed an emphasis on the autonomy of poetry and the arts, and his attitude towards popular culture, like that of Eliot’s, was highly complex. In addition, we do not have any evidence that he liked rebetiko. Yet, as in the case of Elytis, it is important to look further at specific details of his poetic career. In 1960 Seferis’ career as a poet was at a totally different stage from that of Elytis’. He had almost completed the central corpus of his poetry; in fact, up until his death in 1971 he would publish only one further collection. After the failure of Kazantzakis’ Nobel candidacy in 1957 and his death that same year, Seferis appeared to be the most serious Greek candidate for the prize, something that would be proved right in 1963. Yet he had not captured the hearts of the general public, as Palamas had done some decades before. In the summer of 1960, a few weeks before his meeting with Theodorakis in London, Seferis was concerned about the low demand for his latest 1955 collection . . . Kypron, Ou M’ Ethespisen . . . [Imerologio Katastromatos III] (. . . Cyprus, Where It Was Ordained For Me . . . [Logbook III]) (Beaton 2003: 361). If the publication in 1961 of a large volume of scholarly essays, edited by Savidis and entitled Gia ton Seferi (For Seferis), was to celebrate the 30 years of Seferis’ “difficult” poetry, the presentation of Epiphania by Theodorakis, together with Savidis’ review, transformed Seferis’ “Denial” into a huge hit.

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The complications around the question of artistic “ownership” may be seen clearly in the Seferis/Theodorakis case. Theodorakis claimed for the musician a privileged position as a mediator between the poet and his audience – more precisely as the necessary mediator in order for a “qualitative leap” to be achieved for poetry, as he said, also ascribing to this “leap” clearly “Greek” traits (Theodorakis 1982: 25). Theodorakis’ vision was highly political in relation not only to the notion of the “People”, but also to the role claimed by the musician over the poet. The acceptance of this claim on the part of the poet depended on a series of parameters, such as his relationship to music, the way in which he conceived of his poetics and its political dimension, and the need to promote his work at specific moments of his career. If Ritsos seems more open in matters of artistic “ownership” (or is he perhaps an even more complicated case?), poets such as Elytis and Seferis appear to claim back, in different ways and to different degrees, their prime role as cultural figures over the musician who set their poetry to music. Theodorakis and Greece as “a Country of Bards” The relationship between Theodorakis and the poets whose poems he set to music is an important chapter in the history of the “art-popular” song and its role in Greek cultural politics, and subsequently in the history of music and poetry “made in Greece”. The questions of the union between poetry and music and the reception of “national” poetry by its “People” were not of course new. Solomos and Mantzaros, for example, not only represent the first pair of Greek “national poet”/“national composer”; they were also (both or each separately) at the centre of debates about what is “proper” Greek poetry and/or music. One such debate took place in 1859/1860 between Iakovos Polylas and Spyridon Zambelios on the “true” Greek character of Solomos’ poetry (Solomos 2004). In a study entitled “Pothen i Koini Lexis Tragoudo?” (Whence the Common Word Tragoudo [sing]?”), Zambelios (who, together with Konstantinos Paparrigopoulos, has been considered the “father” of the narrative of the continuity of the Greek nation from antiquity to the present) praised the poems from Solomos’ first creative period: unlike his later “difficult” (and fragmentary) poems, Solomos’ early poems (among them, of course, “Xanthoula”) had gained, in Zambelios’ words, “the love of the people”. Polylas, who edited the posthumous manuscripts of Solomos in an authoritative (and, to some extent, unsurpassed) way, answered to Zambelios, defending Solomos’ later poems (for which, one must add, Solomos is most revered today). Exactly one century after the Zambelios/Polylas debate, in 1959/1960, the issues of the “People”, “difficult” poetry versus “popular” poetry/song, and “Greekness” would be posed anew and in a pressing manner by Theodorakis and his “artpopular” song, triggering new musico–poetic debates. But some things are beyond doubt. The respect in which acclaimed “difficult” poets were enveloped, the discussions about, and the controversies around, their work in the literary world and among lovers of poetry helped Theodorakis enormously to enhance the authoritativeness of his own “art-popular” project. In their turn, Theodorakis’ settings greatly helped these poets to reach a wide audience, also firmly establishing the image of Greece as a country of bards. For although strong analogies may be drawn with what has been called “singing poets” in other countries, such as the French auteurs-compositeurs-interprètes (Papanikolaou 2007), Theodorakis’ question sounds legitimate: “In what other country might one hear verses by poets such as Varnalis, Ritsos, Seferis and Elytis being sung in ports, building works, schools, taverns?” (Theodorakis 1982: 99).

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Independent of theoretical approaches, the stories related by so many non-Greeks about how they came into contact with modern Greek poetry for the first time through a song by Theodorakis are many and impressive, with the setting of Seferis’ “Arnisi” being the most famous example.7 One can even dare to imagine Seferis himself being quite pleased by the communion of people at his funeral, as they sang “Arnisi” in one voice, however “misinterpreted” the poem was, in his view, in Theodorakis’ song version, and however ambivalent or negative Seferis had been towards Theodorakis. Notes 1 2 3 4 5 6 7

In 1982 Theodorakis would compose his Seventh Symphony based on this poem. The music was also used in the 1969 film Z by Costas Gavras, based on the 1966 novel with the same title by Vassilis Vassilikos, which deals with the assassination of Grigoris Lambrakis. Another such figure was Kostas Varnalis (1884–1974), a senior poet who was awarded the Lenin Peace Prize in 1959. Theodorakis, who himself would be awarded the same prize in 1983, also set to music poems by Varnalis. Kalvos, together with Solomos, is considered the founding father of modern Greek poetry. See e.g. his 1970 Prologue to Igor Stravinsky’s Poetics of Music in its second (and latest) edition in English (Tambakaki 2011). For a meeting in the late summer of 1960 (Seferis 1990: 241). For a telling example, see how Roderick Beaton describes his first contact with Seferis’ work (Beaton 2003: xiv–xv).

Bibliography Beaton, Roderick. 1999. An Introduction to Modern Greek Literature. Oxford: Oxford University Press. Beaton, Roderick. 2003. George Seferis: Waiting for the Angel – A Biography. London: Yale University Press. De Costa, René. 1982. The Poetry of Pablo Neruda. Cambridge, MA: Harvard University Press. Elytis, Odysseas. 1987. Anoichta Chartia. Athens: Ikaros. Elytis, Odysseas. 1992. En Leuko. Athens: Ikaros. Elytis, Odysseas. 2011. Syn tois Allois. Athens: Ypsilon. Holst-Warhaft, Gail. 1980. Theodorakis: Myth and Politics in Modern Greek Music. Amsterdam: Hakkert. Lebesi, Litsa. 2013. I Mousiki kai oi Ichoi stin Poiisi tou Gianni Ritsou. Athens: Mandragoras. Papanikolaou, Dimitris. 2007. Singing Poets: Literature and Popular Music in France and Greece. Oxford: Legenda. Papanikolaou, Dimitris. 2012. “Otan Chathike i Ano Teleia: I Melopoiimeni Poiisi sti Dekaetia tou ’60.” In Gia mia Istoria tis Ellinikis Logotechnias tou Eikostou Aiona, ed. Angela Kastrinaki, Alexis Politis, and Dimitris Tziovas. Herakleio: Panepistimiakes Ekdoseis Kritis, pp. 305–325. Seferis, George. 1984. Dokimes, Vol. 2. Athens: Ikaros. Seferis, George. 1990. Meres 7. 1 October 1956–27 December 1960. Athens: Ikaros. Seferis, George. 1992. Dokimes: Paraleipomena. Athens: Ikaros. Solomos, Dionysios. 2004. Solomos: Prolegomena Kritika Stai – Polyla – Zambeliou. Athens: Gavriilidis. Tambakaki, Polina. 2011. I “Mousiki Poiitiki” tou Giorgou Seferi. Athens: Domos. Tambakaki, Polina. 2013. “The Homeric Elpenor and Those Who Made il gran rifiuto (Dante’s Inferno, Canto 3) in the Poetry of George Seferis: Modernist nekuias and Antiheroism.” Classical Receptions Journal 5(1): 144–165. Theodorakis, Mikis. 1972. Mousiki Gia tis Mazes. Athens: Olkos. Theodorakis, Mikis. 1982. Machomeni Koultoura. Athens: Synchroni Epochi. Theodorakis, Mikis. 1986. Gia tin Elliniki Mousiki. Athens: Kastaniotis. Theodorakis, Mikis. 2000. “Setting Seferis to Music.” In George Seferis: Centenary Celebrations. London: The Hellenic Foundation for Culture, pp. 6–8. Tragaki, Dafne. 2005. “‘Humanizing the Masses’: Enlightened Intellectuals and the Music of the People.” In The Mediterranean in Music: Critical Perspectives, Common Concerns, Cultural Differences, ed. David Cooper and Kevin Dawe. Lanham, MD: Scarecrow Press, pp. 49–75. Vitti, Mario. 1999. “Eisagogi. To Ergo tou Odyssea Elyti kai i Elliniki Kritiki.” In Eisagogi stin Poiisi tou Elyti, ed. Mario Vitti. Herakleio: Panepistimiakes Ekdoseis Kritis, pp. 1–42.

5 An “Impossible” Place The Creative Antinomies of Manos Hadjidakis’ Modernism Panagiotis A. Kanellopoulos

Described as “one of the world’s foremost composers of popular music” (Reflections 1970, liner notes) the 1960 Best Song Academy Award winner Manos Hadjidakis (October 23, 1925 to June 15, 1994) has enjoyed a visibility and fame in postwar Greek musical and cultural life that can only be compared with that of his contemporary, Mikis Theodorakis (b. 1925). Today, Hadjidakis’ music continues to be seen by many as a much adored, hospitable nest of precious sensibility, while his intellectual legacy continues to be regarded as a measure of fearless dignity (Meskos 2014). Interestingly, his artistic practice (and the cultural politics to which it gave momentum) affords to be read in the same way in which Hadjidakis approached popular music itself; that is, “as a means to transcend sociopolitical divisions, an aestheticist and often escapist search for common identity lying outside any wider political project” (Papanikolaou 2007: 70). Thus, he has been recently hailed as the bearer of values that have, over the past 30 years, been dethroned by the “the audacity of ignorance, [and] the anti-aesthetic delirium of fanaticism” (Theodoropoulos 2012: 171), as a symbol of all lost opportunities that could have “saved” Greece from the current economic and socio-political crisis. In this view, Hadjidakis must be seen as “the defeated of 2012” (Markaris 2012: 46). At the same time, prodigious members of today’s academic and music establishment continue a long tradition of ridicule, picturing him as a populist composer of light music who, “unable” to compose “serious”, “art” music, subverted long-cherished cultural distinctions (Tsetsos 2013; Leotsakos 1999, 2001). Against tendencies to either sacralize or dismiss the value of his music and public interventions, this chapter approaches Hadjidakis’ musical practice as a cultural practice that induced particular discursive formations through which the composer himself situated his music within a broader cultural milieu. It will be argued that Hadjidakis’ musical practice may be read as a staging of antinomies which is constitutive of a fatally problematic, yet immensely creative meeting of modernist ideology and popular music. Adopting a Rancièrian perspective (Rancière 2004, 2009a, 2009b, 2010, 2011), we will approach Hadjidakis’ socio-musical practice and ideas as staging a moment of dissensus; that is, a situation that rendered core aesthetic distinctions and ways of perceiving music deeply problematic, inducing a dissensual musical experience that creates “a multiplicity of folds and gaps in the fabric of common experience that change the cartography of the perceptible, the thinkable and the feasible” (Rancière 2009a: 72). The backbone to the exploration of Hadjidakis’ dissensual aesthetics attempted in this chapter is an in-depth look at his writings and interviews, as well as at select archival material and contemporary re-evaluations of his ideas, personality, and music. Most importantly for the

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purpose of writing this chapter, in-depth interviews were conducted with three distinguished musicians and close collaborators of Manos Hadjidakis: contemporary composer and member of the Academy of Athens Theodor Antoniou, pianist and arranger Theodoros Kotepanos, and double-bass player Andreas Rodousakis. The Beginning: The Seeds of Modernist Antinomies Scholarship has paid insufficient attention to the significance of Hadjidakis’ initial attempts to enter Greek musical life through a sustained effort to connect his music to wider socio-artistic contexts. His entrance is marked by three closely linked moves. The first is that he sought to connect his musical output to theatre, most notably through his work for Karolos Koun’s (1908– 1987) Theatro Technis (Art Theatre), founded in 1942 (Hadjidakis 1988: 145). Second, Hadjidakis became actively involved in the formation of the innovative dance group Elliniko Chorodrama (Hellenic Dance Theatre), run by Martha Graham’s student Rallou Manou. As Manou testifies,

Figure 5.1 Manos Hadjidakis’ piano transcription of an excerpt from “Marsyas” (1950), ballet music choreographed by Rallou Manou, paving the way for the birth of Elliniko Chorodrama (Hellenic Dance Theatre). Source: Elliniko Chorodrama 1950–1960. Athens: Elliniko Chorodrama, p. 55.

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“[w]ith his unfailing knack of always hitting on some invaluable idea, Hadjidakis traced the artistic line we were subsequently to follow” (Manou 1961: 192). The third move is that he sought to enter the public debate on Rebetiko. Rebetiko had, in the late 1940s, been the subject of heated discussion within both bourgeois and Left intellectual circles (Andriakena 2007; Vlisidis 2006). In November 1949 Hadjidakis introduced a concert of rebetiko music at Kedrikon stage, one of the main middle-class venues of Athens (interestingly, the concert poster refers to him as a “music critic”: Liavas 2009: 257); this presentation was preceded by his acclaimed and provocative lecture on rebetiko (January 1949, Theatro Technis) that bears the title Erminia kai Thesi tou Sigchronou Laikou Traghoudiou (Liavas 2009). Through that lecture, Hadjidakis sought to put forward a robust “musical” answer to issues that were central to the aesthetic programme of important literary and artistic circles of the period in which Hadjidakis wished to play an active role (see Seiragakis 2011). In Hadjidakis’ surviving typescript (reproduced in Liavas 2009), rebetiko is hailed as being “so close and so intimately ours” (ibid.: 255) – a scandalous claim when addressed to the cultured social classes of the era. In this lecture he aimed to create a perspective that deliberately extracted rebetiko from its everyday context, seeing it “beyond its everydayness” (ibid.), so that its true Greekness could be revealed. A simple rebetiko song where “everything is rendered in the utmost simplicity, unornamented, and with an inner power that sometimes has a tremendous impact” (ibid.: 259) was seen as based on the same values that guided “the awesome grandeur of ancient tragedy and all ancient Greek monuments”: “clarity” and “simplicity of form” (ibid.). It is argued that his views on rebetiko provided a basis for forging an artistic programme that was distinct from the aesthetic concerns of both National Music School academic tradition and mainstream bourgeois light music culture. Moreover, it drew attention to this young, courageous man, whose aesthetic concerns brought him close to the modernist artists of the so-called Generation of the 1930s, namely poets, painters, and architects such as Gatsos, Elytis, Seferis, Tsarouchis, Moralis, and Pikionis (Elytis 1996: 62–63; Papanikolaou 2007: 68; Tziovas 2011: 470). Nobel Laureate Odysseas Elytis (1911–1996) recounts how Hadjidakis introduced his music to the (rather sceptical) members of the Generation of the 1930s: he was led into poet Nanos Valaoritis’ home, sat at the piano, and “as he later confessed . . . he just improvised” (Elytis 1996: 62–63). This had not been new for him, as, in the late 1940s and early 1950s he regularly improvised and performed his composed music in private venues for friends, ambitious fellow artists, and prominent members of Athenian cultural life. His ability to improvise achieved legendary status (Patrikios 1996: 196–197; see also Miralis 2004: 50–51). As Pananikolaou has argued, “Hadjidakis’ ‘discovery’ of rebetika” was an act of “deep modernist foundations” (2007: 72; see also Tziovas 2011): it was his musical response to one of the core modernist quests put forward by the Generation of the 1930s: the creation of a “national modernism” (Tziovas 1997: 2; Vlagopoulos 2009) that could stand on equal terms with European developments. One of the core strategies for achieving this was the construction of a narrative that saw humble artefacts of Greek popular culture as an embodiment of values integral to all “genuinely Greek” art. Remember Elytis’ “discovery” of “a certain ‘sacral’ sensibility” that runs as a common thread from ancient Cretan pottery remains right down to Sifnos island folk architecture and “the blue and yellow of the humblest Aegean fish boat” (1992: 21) (see Voutouris 2011: 342–343; Tziovas 2011: 470–473; Vlagopoulos 2009). In the same way that Elytis’ and Seferis’ search for “the true face of Greece” (Elytis, quoted in Keeley 1992: 181, in Papanikolaou 2007: 69) led them to a process of aestheticization of popular art forms, Hadjidakis’ lecture on rebetiko was an act of modernist appropriation. As such, it was part of a larger process of

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Figure 5.2 Manos Hadjidakis, actress Marika Kotopouli, and director Takis Mouzenidis during their cooperation for Aeschylus Oresteia 1951. Source: Manos Hadjidakis (1925–1994), edited by Giorgos Tzedakis. Athens: Eleftherotypia, p. 53.

constructing a vision of living Greek art that blends highbrow modernism and popular arts, past and present, advancing a distinctive, contemporary Greek identity that could be put into dialogue with mainstream European modernism on equal terms. The Emergence of Modernist Antinomies in Hadjidakis’ Musical Practice: A View from Meghalos Erotikos Understanding the aesthetic and ideological imperatives that informed Hadjidakis’ artistic and cultural engagement in the late 1940s and early 1950s is crucial for constructing a situated view of the particular ways in which his musical practice infused popular music codes with modernist approaches to art’s mission, inducing a set of irreconcilable antinomies that became the springboard to a novel and immensely creative musical practice.

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Modernism is here understood as encompassing “a whole range of cultural and artistic practices that register, respond to, and reflect upon processes of modernization and the experience of modernity, including a paradigmatic transformation of the conditions under which art is produced, transmitted, and consumed” (Hansen 1999: 60). As Huyssen has aptly stated, “modernism constituted itself through a conscious strategy of exclusion” (Huyssen 1986: vii) rooted in the adherence to a set of imperatives that led to the construction of hierarchies among different forms of art and artistic practice. At the same time, modernism entailed the emergence of a fluid and contested territory: boundaries between different arts and practices were often subverted “from within” (ibid.). Emphasis on grand narratives that promote the value of internal coherence of artistic practices, emphasis on the artist as a visionary, autonomy of the artwork, release of the artistic from the concerns of everyday life, quest for personal authenticity on the basis of breaking away from tradition while being answerable to that very tradition, priority of aesthetic distance over emotional engagement, formal approach to the material qua material, have all been core modernist imperatives that were rendered problematic right from the start (ibid.). Added to that, “[i]t is important to stress that modernism was not simply ‘localized’ in Greece; it was ‘nationalized’ through a widespread exploration of Greek identity – an exploration which, for the Greeks, amounted to a revolution against the Western misconstrued notions of ‘Greekness’” (Pourgouris 2006: 95), striving for the creation of a genuine dialogue between contemporary Greek art and European modernist trends. Hadjidakis’ musical practice was caught

Figure 5.3 Record cover of Meghalos Erotikos. Artwork by Yannis Moralis (1916–2009). Source: Manos Hadjidakis, Meghalos Erotikos. Notos/Lyra, 3901, 1972, 331⁄3 rpm.

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in the midst of all this, and it has been the core aim of this chapter to substantiate the claim that Hadjidakis employed a modernist approach to artistic production using popular culture musical codes that modernist aesthetics wished to exclude. In this way, his efforts resulted in the construction of a novel vision of Greek popular music whose ramifications are still with us today. In what follows, having as a point of reference Hadjidakis’ song cycle Meghalos Erotikos (op. 30, 1972), we will attempt to outline a dynamic, frictional picture of Hadjidakis’ modernist approach to artistic practice, showing how his work created an “impossible” place which was caught in the midst of a continuous struggle for legitimization that was itself based on exclusion. “High” and “Low”: Creating the Impossibility of Being In-Between Hadjidakis preferred to call himself a composer of songs (Vlagopoulos 2009: 52), to which he sometimes referred as people’s songs [laika traghoudia], often presented as song cycles accompanied by an opus number. Throughout his creative life he tried to draw clear distinctions between his music, particularly his songs, and the emerging entechno tradition, aiming to highlight his, according to his own view, unique position. In the liner notes of Meghalos Erotikos, Hadjidakis refers to this work as “a series of people’s songs” (his emphasis), a statement that is accompanied by an important disclaimer: “I’ve tried to create simple but not easy songs”, with the aim of touching “the innermost sensitivity of young people irrespective of age, not their ephemeral and uncontrolled arousals” (ibid.). Adhering to “the modernist contempt for popular culture” (Rainey 1999: 33), he utterly dismissed the superficial sentimentality of entertainment songs (see Hadjidakis 1980: 23), regarding them as sensual, ephemeral, untruthful, showing superficial immediacy. In his interview with intellectual maverick Renos Apostolidis, Hadjidakis vehemently attacked entechno-laiko (art-popular) song as a pretentious trend that sprang out of “an inferiority complex of certain composers: to keep their connection to ‘serious’ art, they turned to ‘serious’ poetry, using it in musical artefacts aimed for mass consumption. . . . Hence this travesty of popular song emerged” (Hadjidakis 1966: 43). We could see this as an attempt on Hadjidakis’ part to employ the modernist rhetoric of mass/popular opposition so as to open up a possible space in which his music could be situated. The aesthetic imperative that guided his engagement with writing popular songs has been deeply embedded in aesthetic distance, a strategy that has been central in modernist aesthetics (Vlagopoulos 2009). Hadjidakis, although he developed a popular musical language that was totally different from the dominant set of modernist musical techniques, passionately adopted the modernist rhetoric of aesthetic distance, insisting that Meghalos Erotikos constitutes “a work on the theme of Eros, and not a compilation of love songs, as was superficially thought by many” (Archival interview footage in Papastathis 2007). Hadjidakis developed a stance towards the making of songs that owes a lot to the lessons received from modern painters such as Yannis Moralis: achieving control of the material by attending to its internal reality while at the same time struggling to achieve a personal and living relationship with it (Hadjidakis 1988: 184). He thus aimed to create a form of popular song which adheres to visions of artistic truthfulness that exceed the immediate confines of time and place. In an interview given immediately after recording Meghalos Erotikos, Hadjidakis declared emphatically: “First, I do not believe that song can contain or comment upon issues of our time” (Hadjidakis 1972: 2). Hadjidakis set out to create music based on a modernist aesthetic which emphasized aesthetic detachment, personal experimentation with the material and its “internal truths”, and a search for inner threads that

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connect the artist to the world in ways that move beyond historical particularities, guided, instead, by “eternal” artistic imperatives. What is really interesting however is that Hadjidakis (with few exceptions, e.g. his piano suite “Gia Mia Mikri Lefki Achivada” (For a Little White Seashell, op. 1) did not use popular music as a pool of ideas for the creation of modernist works, but sought to work on song-based popular forms. In this way Hadjidakis’ approach “marks the transition between a discourse that defines popular culture as prime material for high art to one that inhabits popular culture and defines it from within” (Papanikolaou 2007: 75). At the same time, he tried to acquaint himself with the music of prominent avant-garde composers of postwar Greece. Composer Theodor Antoniou testifies that Hadjidakis “supported us greatly”, being an active and dedicated champion of contemporary music.1 In 1962, Hadjidakis co-organized a composition competition, known as “the Musical Competition of the Athens Technological Institute (ATI) and the Manos Hadjidakis Award” (Tsagkarakis 2013: 123), which culminated “at a rather memorable concert given at the Technological Institute of Athens on December 16, 1962, sponsored and financed by, of all people, Manos Hadzidakis [sic.], the composer of Never on Sunday” (Slonimsky 1965: 233, emphasis added). And in 1964 he created Peiramatiki Orchistra Athinon (Athens Experimental Orchestra), a music ensemble aimed at promoting Greek contemporary music. In the programme of the concert of 23 August 1965, this self-taught conductor and composer of popular “hits”

Figure 5.4 Manos Hadjidakis with composer Iannis Xenakis. Source: Manos Hadjidakis (1925–1994), ed. GiorgosTzedakis. Athens: Eleftherotypia, p. 65.

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Figure 5.5 Athens Experimental Orchestra (Peiramatiki Orchistra Athinon) concert programme, Thessaloniki, 23 August 1965. Source: © Aristotle University of Thessaloniki University Library. Used with permission.

presented Iannis Xenakis’ (1922–2001) “Eonta” (for piano, two trumpets, and three trombones, 1964), Yorgo Sicilianos’ (1920–2005) concerto for cello and orchestra (op. 22, 1964), and Theodor Antoniou’s (b. 1935) concerto for violin and orchestra (op. 28, 1965), dedicated to Dimitris Vraskos, Hadjidakis’ life-long collaborator (Peiramatiki Orchistra Athinon 1965). His efforts to forge a concept of popular song-making based on a modernist approach led him to inhabit an “impossible” place, beyond both the realm of “art” and “popular” music, “impossible” in the sense of being under constant attack from both sides as untenable: the “popular front” criticized him for exploiting its codes to create elitist music, while the “art music front” perceived his music as well-crafted light music. His music was therefore approached largely through the prism of what it was thought not to be: not “art” music, neither “popular”, not “serious”, neither “light”, fitting nowhere, being in dialogue while problematizing all those musical practices into which it did not “fit”. However, while at first glance this effort to colonize the popular by means of modernist aesthetic imperatives may be regarded as an attempt to destabilize the rigid high-low hierarchy, I would suggest the contrary: that this constitutes an act of affirmation. Hadjidakis, a self-proclaimed “song-maker” (traghoudopios), adopted modernism’s disdain for the popular, creating an aestheticized, almost utopian, vision of “people’s song” that he set as a guide to his composing practice. He thereby promoted a dis-identification of his music from both “high” art and “mass music” culture, adhering to a “fantasized and idealized view of popular culture, seen as authentic, vernacular and resistant to commerce, which

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is the root of the mass/popular polarity” (Born 1987: 54, based on Burke 1981). But in this way he created a non-place for his own music, consciously positioning it in a space overwhelmed by inescapable but creative antinomies. This is the theoretical context in which I think one should read Theodoros Kotepanos’ view that Hadjidakis’ case has been exemplary of an approach to popular and art music that shows: the way in which one could do both, without them being two different fields; [how could one] be not in the middle of the two, not someone who is involved in both at the same time, but how could both be one, for the very simple reason that “this is what I am doing,” [I mean that] “this is what he was doing.”2 Both “could be one” through forging a personal stance towards both popular and art traditions, a stance of deep modernist foundations which paved the way for a music that redefined our perception of both, by teaching us how to look for moments of precious (akrivi, as he would say) art that could potentially be found anywhere. With and Without the “Musical Work” Concept This leads us to the second central antinomy in Hadjidakis’ work and musical practice: a modernist approach to “the popular” through a mode of practice that, although it emphasized wholeness and self-sufficiency of the work, at the same time unashamedly adopted the inherent fluidity of popular musical practice that underscores the “profoundly social nature of authorship” (Toynbee 2012: 163). I invite us to read this as an instance of a musical practice that operates both inside and outside the concept of the musical work (Goehr 1989, 1992), working on the basis of core aspects of the Werktreue ideal while at times explicitly subverting it.

Figure 5.6 Manos Hadjidakis and his musicians working at the studio for 15 Esperinoi (Andreas Rodousakis, doublebass, Aliki Krithari, harp, Dimitris Fampas, Gerasimos Miliaresis, guitars). Source: Manos Hadjidakis. 15 Esperinoi. Philips/Peters International, LPS 1, 1964, 331⁄3 rpm.

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Meghalos Erotikos was conceived of as a study on the theme of Eros which employed, with one exception, Greek poetry that spanned 2,700 years. The composer states that “The poems were chosen on the basis of the criteria that were given to me by the generation in which I was raised” (Hadjidakis 1988: 221), thus explicitly connecting his project to the ideals of the Generation of the 1930s and the search for constants running through Greek art of all times and different genres (see Chardas 2016: 96-97). Hadjidakis talks of Meghalos Erotikos as “an unbroken song cycle, a ceremony for [this imaginary popular god named] Meghalos Erotikos” (Hadjidakis 1972: liner notes3). In his concerts he always imposed an audience code of conduct borrowed from art music concerts, a code that continued to puzzle his audience – and few things made him more furious than clapping in between the songs of a song cycle. The organic wholeness of the song cycles was also ensured by the insistence that his works may only be presented in their original orchestration. At the same time, Manos Hadjidakis had developed a mode of musical practice that contradicted the musical work ideals. Andreas Rodousakis, Hadjidakis’ dedicated double bassist for almost 30 years, emphasized the intimate bonds that developed between the composer and his musicians in the process of collective shaping of the music: “we were like a part of him, a part of his self.”4 Echoing a number of different testimonies such as that offered by choral director Elli Nikolaidou (1996: 176), Rodousakis noted: “Manos was always flourishing in the company of his musicians.” Faithful to the imperatives of art music ideology, Rodousakis uses the carefully chosen term “participation” (simetochi) to indicate the musicians’ creative involvement in the collectively shaped orchestration of the songs: “Rehearsing each song, we, based on our experience and knowledge, truly participated in what was going on.” Interestingly, he added: “I would dare use the word ‘co-creators’ but I’m worried that I might be misunderstood.” In any case, it is clear that experimentation led to an exchange of ideas: Rodousakis emphasized that “whatever good comes out of our hands he keeps it; the whole thing emerges through a collective molding of ideas.” Composer Theodor Antoniou talks of an “aurally performed orchestration” emphasizing the frustration of theatre and cinema directors and producers with Hadjidakis’ improvised ways

Figure 5.7 Andreas Rodousakis during a rehearsal with Hadjidakis’ Orchistra ton Chromaton. Source: Marilena Stafylidou, Portrait of an Orchestra: Manos Hadjidakis’ Orchestra of Colours. Athens: Kastaniotis, 1994. Photo by Marilena Stafylidou, courtesy of the photographer.

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Figure 5.8 Hadjidakis with some of his musician members of Orchistra ton Chromaton at a rehearsal break. Source: Marilena Stafylidou, Portrait of an Orchestra: Manos Hadjidakis’ Orchestra of Colours. Athens: Kastaniotis, 1994. Photo by Marilena Stafylidou, courtesy of the photographer.

of working with his musicians. Pianist and arranger Theodoros Kotepanos, echoing other testimonies on the issue (Kypourgos 1999), noted that Hadjidakis, despite appearances, had developed a clear sense and method of working which led to the fulfilment of his vision for depth, clarity and density, never letting go of any aspect of the music that he considered crucial. Hadjidakis’ collaborative approach was very much at odds with the individualist approach of the composer as a master auteur. At the same time his work concept-oriented tendency to sign most of his arrangements betrayed an anxiety that was the result of the tension between the “lower” status of collective practices and “classical” approaches to composition. Kotepanos believes that his own collaboration with the composer in the mid-1980s came at a moment when Hadjidakis felt that he needed to approach his music through a historical perspective, dealing with his songs through the perspective of finality. “A-Political” Resistance Distinguishing between a “people’s song and a song for the people” (Hadjidakis 1980: 165, emphasis added) points towards a third antinomy in Hadjidakian aesthetics: removing politics from art in an attempt to perform a “true” act of resistance. The composer indicated that Meghalos Erotikos, this young little God, does not wear picturesque local clothes. He wears clothes of his own making . . . [he] does not contain messages that can be easily swept away by the rain. He does not resist. . . . Through these songs I tried to intimately connect to the soul of my native land, in an immortal, erotic, and Greek ceremony. (Hadjidakis, 1972: Meghalos Erotikos liner notes) This formulation of Meghalos Erotikos’ aesthetic contains the seeds of Hadjidakis’ position: disdain for the folkloric, authentic experimentation with popular forms, reach of deeper strata

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of personal sensibility that lie beyond the ephemeral, uncompromising surrender to music’s irresistible aura. Hadjidakis envisaged Meghalos Erotikos as a pathway that would allow him to reach a deeper sense of Greekness, performing an act of “true” resistance, an act that did not tie itself to specific political programmes prevalent at the time: Upon my return to Greece, in 1972, right at the heart of dictatorship [1967–1974], I contemplated on what might be of true and not ephemeral interest for the country at that moment, and not by way of a political slogan; hence I began to work on Meghalos Erotikos. (Archival interview footage in Papastathis 2007)5 Hadjidakis had often been accused of being an elitist composer of light music, and as someone whose conservative affiliations led him to an a-political stance. Aware of this, he consciously tried to construct a narrative that attempted to provide a different contextualization for his artistic choices: The reception of those songs in 1972 was this: “here comes Hadjidakis with his love songs, at a moment when the whole world is on fire”. Nobody realized that the only need at that moment was to re-discover our dignity and our roots, our poetic roots. (Archival interview footage in Papastathis 2007) Once again, the aesthetics of the Generation of the 1930s had been significant for Hadjidakis’ own contextualization of his work: at a moment of turbulence, at a moment of defeat of democracy, personal and national dignity should be redeemed through moving inward (building a personal poetic) and looking back (creating a new relationship with the past). For Hadjidakis, resistance meant the search for an “authentic” Greek voice: against the surge of folkloric kitsch and the outrageous misappropriation of “Greekness” by the dictatorship, but also against the deluge of “political” songs (politiko traghoudi) of the era. Hadjidakis created a work that was meant to reclaim Greek poetic tradition and its continuity. He refers to the painter Yannis Tsarouchis’ artistic practice as an example of courageous resistance by invoking a similar narrative. For Hadjidakis, Tsarouchis was to be hailed for “resisting decadence and fake, as a genuine bearer of dignity, culture and unlimited talent” (Hadjidakis 1988: 195). Hadjidakis’ reading of the painter’s position reveals his own quest to achieve a “genuinely popular sensibility” (ibid.: 105, emphasis in the original), which he regarded as a “true”, in fact as the only, worthwhile political act. Artistic Independence and Institutional Involvement The notion of “genuine popular sensibility” (ibid.) as conceived by Hadjidakis derives its meaning from a modernist conceptual context: only an artist whose infallible instinct is her or his only guide is able to reach this state. Hadjidakis adhered to the Baudelairean idea that the artist is answerable only to himself (Baudelaire 1965): “I only obey the laws of art and inner sensibility”, he declared (Servetas 2014: 17).6 Throughout his life, he tried to remain faithful to Rilke’s dictum that had been deeply engrained in his conscience since his early youth (Hadjidakis 1988: 208): “retire into yourself and probe the depths from which your life springs up” (Rilke in Parascos 2002: 8). This concept of artistic freedom, a freedom that recognizes no limits, operates

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simultaneously with a view of the artist as a “guide” that leads his audience to apprehend this “genuine popular sensibility”. Apostolidis talks of Hadjidakis’ autonomous artistic universe while crediting him with the creation of something “astonishingly, fervently ours, so that the whole Nation suddenly feels as one heart” (Apostolidis 1966: 40). For Apostolidis, as for Hadjidakis, artistic autonomy that induces a process of genuine experimentation secures art’s role as an ethical force that may guide society towards a more authentic life. The artist is the source of this guidance, a guidance that promises to be unsettling: Song is a moment of magic and I’m a traveller magician representing you. . . . I’ll shed light on the secret and hidden corners of your minds, I’ll surprise you, flood you with questions and melodies that may become yours and be brought home, so that your sleep is cut short and your peace of mind is lost forever. (Hadjidakis 1988: 33) It is argued that this view of the artist’s mission as a visionary guide, coupled with the axiomatic belief in artists’ unlimited freedom, may account for Hadjidakis’ paradoxical acceptance of views that verge on the side of anarchism, at the same time that he dedicated his efforts to various forms of passionate, radical, and at times confrontational institutional engagement.7 This is what allowed him to develop a visceral form of unorthodox didacticism that never aimed at rhetorical conviction but stemmed from his deep belief that one teaches by example; that is, by forging a musical practice consistent with one’s ideals. This was what enabled him to shape a form of public discourse that merged anarchic flights with essentialist positions retaining his “right” to create ruptures and ambiguities, performing cultural interventions that were exemplary for their audacity and directness. Hadjidakis lived in turbulent times and held a pessimistic and anti-teleological view of history: “The real winners [of World War II] were the defeated. And so we inherited methods of violence, addiction to negation of freedom, fear as an everyday companion, and a powerful, ruthless state to control us” (Hadjidakis 1988: 63). Therein one may locate the roots of his “hyper- and pessimistic activism” (Foucault 1983: 231–232). He always thought of his music and his larger cultural interventions as a means of awakening: “For we must not forget that in Greece the aim has always been to emasculate the young, so that those compromised – ‘the people’ – can continue their peaceful sleep!” (Hadjidakis 1988: 124–125). He, the “discoverer” of rebetiko, argued vehemently against the ways in which tradition is appropriated in the hands of power: “Tradition enforces our complete surrender to the dead – and in that way it renders us ineffective, incapable of producing changes, ruptures, or of liberating ourselves. This is why tradition is of great convenience to those in power” (Hadjidakis 1980: 145). He, the artistic director of the Athens State Orchestra, was a fierce critic of the obsolete music and music education establishment: “for we’ve been taught to accept as of sole importance, the grammar and the rules of art; for the truth has been hidden from us” (Hadjidakis 1980: 168), and many of his efforts as a conductor and artistic director of various projects and institutions aimed at countering this very situation. He, a master worker of the “phenomenology of memory” (Andreopoulos 2001: 258), declared: “Gentlemen, kill memory. Begin from the beginning” (Hadjidakis 1980: 147). His close friendship with right-wing Prime Minister Karamanlis (1907–1998) did not prevent him from taking part “in a protest march organized by the Anarchists’ Initiative [September 1990] against the imprisonment of one of their young followers” (Apergis n.d.) in support of “those 30–100

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Figure 5.9 Manos Hadjidakis in conversation with a young man during an Anarchists’ Initiative protest. Source: Ta Nea newspaper, 19 September 1990.

kids [i.e. anarchists] who stubbornly resist admitting that ‘freedom’ is only for the cops and the elderly” (Hadjidakis 1988: 64; see also Miralis 2004: 48). Hadjidakis’ adherence to the modernist dictum that elevates artistic freedom to its absolute limits, proclaiming a notion of the artist’s fate as a herald of the new and the authentic, his rejection of determinism, his suspicion of anything destined for “the masses”, and his fierce criticism of the ways in which the Greek state [ab]used history, music, and education, often brought him to a political position that came close to anarchism – to a position that Neil Nehring refers to as “cultural anarchism” (1997: 51).8 At the same time, his wish to communicate his artistic vision to his audience and his deep belief in forms of cultural interventions that might act as a guide for the public led him to accept various positions of power. He thus shaped a double-edged cultural and musical practice that was rooted in a deeply irreconcilable dialectic between power and its negation. Creating Dissensus Hadjidakis became actively involved in the construction of the very artistic vision he sought to adhere to; and, as a devoted modernist, he tried to provide a coherent narrative contextualizing his endeavour, creating his own vision of postwar Greek cultural history. It is this narrative that this chapter has sought to recast in the form of a set of irreconcilable antinomies. By employing modernist principles while struggling continually to redefine the conditions of their use, Hadjidakis created an array of virtually “impossible” positions, thereby staging a dissensual

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situation that rendered traditional distinctions not irrelevant but fatally irreconcilable. Appropriating popular forms by way of creating an aestheticized form of popular music, he worked in ways that upset the distinction between “high” and “low”, “serious” and “light”, “art” and “popular”, negating both but delegitimizing none. As Kotepanos stated emphatically, “it is not necessary to regard both as being equal; what is equal is the very attitude with which one approaches both.” Thus, it may be argued that Hadjidakis constructed and legitimized a particular version of modernism born within the cultural anxieties of postwar (and post-civil war) Greece, borrowing codes of performance practice that traditionally belong to art music, transplanting them to the realm of popular music. Thus, Hadjidakis adhered to the normalizing principles of the concept of musical work while remaining dedicated to a collaborative way of working that upsets the distinctions among composer/performer/arranger. Using notions of aesthetic distance borrowed from art music, he created a music that never renounced its intention to communicate with virtually anyone. Thus the composer of the soundtrack for the 1963 MGM film In the Cool of the Day (where Nat King Cole sings the song of the same name) has repeatedly talked of his disdain for mass art and audiences, of his desire to communicate exclusively with young, uncompromising minds dedicated to creative experimentation with life and ideas, cultivating a deeply personal sensibility that refuses ephemeral trends. Moreover, adopting an indirect didactic stance, he sought actively to forge and enforce a top-down vision of a “genuine” and “genuinely popular” sensibility. At the same time he sought consistently to depoliticize the very cultural politics to which his music and musical practice was caught, emphasizing his wish to move beyond the political precisely because he sought to develop “genuine” forms of artistic resistance to cultural demise. This chapter argues that Manos Hadjidakis developed a mode of musical practice that created an aesthetic dissensus, inducing “the rupture of a certain agreement between thought and the sensible” (Rancière 2009c: 98). Bringing modernist discourse into the realm of popular music he created an “impossible” place, albeit an immensely creative one. It is argued that the Rancièrian notion of dissensus may help us to theoretically situate Hadjidakis’ unique and complex practice. As Tanke notes, Rancière’s conceptualization of aesthetic dissensus contains: three levels, which are all discernable in Rancière’s writings. Aesthetic dissensus means that works of art fashion and sustain new subjects; they create new objects and new forms of perception; and, finally, they offer experiences fundamentally dissimilar from the everyday ordering of sense. (Tanke 2011: 103) Hadjidakis’ musical practice created a conflict over what is the common store of material on which music should be based, blurring rigid, hierarchical divisions between “high” and “low” artistic forms, and “serious” art and “light” popular music; a conflict over how musicians from radically different backgrounds should create together; a conflict over the means of “adequate” musical education; a conflict over the meaning of artistic freedom and its proper relation with the receivers of its outcomes; a conflict over the notion of the political and its relation to the making of music; a conflict over notions of musical and aesthetic value; a conflict over the notion of the popular itself. Similar to Rancière, we could see Hadjidakis’ work “as a refusal to ‘know your place’, . . . as a refusal to endlessly reconfirm and re-establish the places that have been set for” (Highmore 2011: 95) the musician, the composer, the citizen, and the thinker, and their “proper” relation

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to music, and, through music, to life. It thus constitutes an exemplary Rancièrian instance of the politics of aesthetics. Hadjidakis created a moment of aesthetic dissensus that problematized distinctions, questioned boundaries, and forged a mode of artistic subjectivity that posed new ideas about the relationship of artist and the social: “Aesthetic acts are interventions that form points for a broader resistance by first opening up worlds where subjects can constitute themselves as political subjects. Art . . . is one means of assuming the subjectivity required for politics” (Tanke 2011: 104). Hadjidakis’ socio-musical practice may be seen as an aesthetic act that created dissensus; and as such it opened up the possibility for new forms of political subjectivation (Blinkenberg 2011) that are yet to be realized. Acknowledgments To Theodor Antoniou, Theodoros Kotepanos, and Andreas Rodousakis for their generous offer of memories, stories, commentaries, and reflections on their encounter with Manos Hadjidakis; to photographer Marilena Stafylidou for allowing me to include her photos; to Katerina Nasta, Library Director, Central Library Aristotle University of Thessaloniki, for her permission to use archival material; to Kostas Chardas for a significant observation on Hadjidakis’ “didactic” disposition; to John O’Flynn, Danae Stefanou, Philip Carabott, Sofia Karalazarou, Francesco Serpetti, and Panos Vlagopoulos for their careful commentary on the text; and to Dafni Tragaki for her meticulous editorial care. Notes 1 2 3 4 5 6 7

8

Theodor Antoniou, personal communication, 17 May 2014. Theodoros Kotepanos, personal communication, 2 May 2014. It is noteworthy that Meghalos Erotikos seems to have found its definitive rendition in its first recording (1972); Hadjidakis never performed it publicly in its entirety with the exception of six of those songs that he transcribed for piano and voice, performing them in several recitals with baritone Spiros Sakkas (published in Recital, 1989). Andreas Rodousakis, personal communication, 24 May 2014. Hadjidakis lived in New York between 1966 and 1972. The ironic nod to Theodorakis’ explicitly political cultural programme and to the idea of “political song” in general is clearly discernible in this excerpt. This interview was given by Hadjidakis in 1985, but was published in its entirety in 2014. Hadjidakis’ institutional engagement includes: creator and director of the Peiramatiki Orchistra Athinon (1964– 1967) and the Orchistra ton Chromaton (1989–1993), director of the Trito Programma (1975–1982) of Greek State Radio, artistic director of the Athens State Orchestra (1976–1982), deputy director of the Greek National Opera (1975–1977), editor of Tetarto (1985–1986), a monthly magazine of political and cultural commentary, creator of Sirius record label (1985), director of a number of music festivals (e.g. the Festival Mousikou Augoustou, Herakleion, Crete, 1980–1981, hosting performances of seminal artists such as N. Piovani, A. Piazzola, R. Winters, and G. Sándor), and song contests (e.g. Corfu Musical Contests, 1981–1982). Left political activist and writer Pericles Korovesis has recently put forward a similar argument (Korovesis 2015).

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Patrikios, Titos. 1996. “Kikloi Chronou kai Krikoi Mousikis.” In Anoichtes Epistoles ston Mano Hadjidaki, ed. Thanos Foskarinis. Athens: Bastas-Plessas, pp. 195–203. Peiramatiki Orchistra Athinon. 1965. “Concert Programme,” Monday, 23 August. Pourgouris, Marinos. 2006. “Topographies of Greek Modernism.” In The Avant-Garde and the Margins, ed. Sanja Bahun-Radunovic and Marinos Pourgouris, 88-112. Newcastle: Cambridge Scholars Press, pp. 88–112. Rainey, Lawrence. 1999. “The Cultural Economy of Modernism.” In The Cambridge Companion to Modernism, ed. Michael Levenson. Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, pp. 33–69. Rancière, Jacques. 2004. “Introducing Disagreement.” Trans. Steven Corcoran. Angelaki: Journal of the Theoretical Humanities 9(3): 3–9. Rancière, Jacques. 2009a. The Emancipated Spectator. Trans. Gregory Elliott. London: Verso. Rancière, Jacques. 2009b. “Contemporary Art and the Politics of Aesthetics.” In Communities Of Sense: Rethinking Aesthetics and Politics, ed. Beth Hinderliter, William Kaizen, Vered Maimon, Jaleh Mansoor, and Seth McCormick. Durham, NC: Duke University Press, pp. 31–50. Rancière, Jacques. 2009c. Aesthetics and Its Discontents. Trans. Steven Corcoran. Cambridge: Polity Press. Rancière, Jacques. 2010. “On Ignorant Schoolmasters.” In Education, Truth, Emancipation, by Charles Bingham and Gert J.J. Biesta. London: Continuum, pp. 1–16.

82 • Panagiotis A. Kanellopoulos Rancière, Jacques. 2011. “The Thinking of Dissensus: Politics and Aesthetics.” In Reading Rancière, ed. P. Bowman and R. Stamp. London: Continuum, pp. 1–17. Seiragakis, Manolis. 2011. “Mia pio Proimi Chronologisi ton Epidraseon tou Rebetikou sto Ergo tou Manou Hadjidaki.” Nea Estia 1845 (June): 1109–1124. Servetas, Nikos. 2014. “Manos Hadjidakis, Interviewed.” Epochi 15(6): 16–17. Slonimsky, Nicolas. 1965. “New Music in Greece.” The Musical Quarterly 51(1): 225–235. Stafylidou, Marilena. 1994. Portraito Orchistras: I Orchistra ton Chromaton tou Manou Hadjidaki. Athens: Kastaniotis. Tanke, Joseph. J. 2011. Jacques Rancière: An Introduction. London: Continuum. Theodoropoulos, Takis. 2012. To Teleftaio Tetarto: Ena Elliniko Chroniko. Athens: Polis. Toynbee, Jason. 2012. “Music, Culture, and Creativity.” In The Cultural Study of Music: A Critical Introduction, Second Edition, ed. Martin Clayton, Trevor Herbert, and Richard Middleton. New York: Routledge, pp. 161–171. Tsagkarakis, Ioannis. 2013. The Politics of Culture: Historical Moments in Greek Musical Modernism. Unpublished PhD thesis, Royal Holloway, University of London. Available at http://pure.rhul.ac.uk/portal/en/publications/thepolitics-of-culture(b9d1387f-f470-4ea5-b103-633c1b9a7c6d).html. Tsetsos, Markos. 2013. “I Symphoniki Mousiki kai i Ideologikoi Echthroi tis: Anafora ston Thesmiko Mano Hadjidaki me Aformi ta Gegonota stin Orchistra ton Chromaton.” In Neoelliniki Mousiki: Tessera Dokimia Ideologikis kai Thesmikis Kritikis. Athens: Papagrigoriou-Nakas, pp. 138–145. Tziovas, Dimitris. 1997. “Introduction.” In Greek Modernism and Beyond, ed. Dimitris Tziovas. Lanham, MD: Rowman & Littlefield, pp. 1–8. Tziovas, Dimitris. 2011. O Mithos tis Genias tou Trianda: Neoterikotita, Ellinikotita kai Politismiki Ideologia. Athens: Polis. Vlagopoulos, Panos. 2009. “I Goiteia tou Laikou kai i Aisthitiki Apostasi.” In Manos Hadjidakis (1925-1994), ed. Giorgos Tzedakis. Athens: Eleftherotypia, pp. 38–56. Vlisidis, Costas. Ed. 2006. Spania Keimena gia to Rebetiko (1929–1959). Athens: Ekdoseis tou Eikostou Protou. Voutouris, Pantelis. 2011. “Odysseas Elytis – Pericles Yiannopoulos: Apo tin Elliniki Grammi ston Yperrealistiko Neoklassikismo.” In O Elytis stin Europi, ed. Paola Maria Minucci and Christos Bintoudis. Athens: Ikaros, pp. 332–359.

Discography Hadjidakis, Hadjidakis, Hadjidakis, Hadjidakis,

Manos. Manos. Manos. Manos,

15 Esperinoi. Philips/Peters International, LPS 1, 1964, 331/3 rpm. Reflections. Atlantic/ATCO, 33 312, 1970, 33⅓ rpm. Meghalos Erotikos. Notos/Lyra, 3901, 1972, 33⅓ rpm. Sakkas, Spiros. Recital. Serius, SMH 89 005/6 – MBI, 1989, double album, 33⅓ rpm.

Filmography Papastathis, Lakis (Director). Panaskinio: Manos Hadjidakis – 18 Kinoumenes Eikones. CINETIC/ERT, 2007. Stevens, Robert (Director). In the Cool of the Day. MGM, 1963.

6

Producing Entechno

Amalgamation and Hybridization in a Controversial Musical Style Dimitrios Varelopoulos

In recent Greek music history one can detect a number of ideological discords, particularly in the field of popular music. Such examples were particularly evident in the decades of the 1950s and 1960s. The attempt to reintroduce Greek folk music, on the one hand, and the pursuit of the establishment of a Greek “national school” in accordance with Western music standards, on the other, led to an aesthetic debate among, and sometimes beyond, the Greek intelligentsia. This battle, which had not only an aesthetic but also a political content, contributed to the genesis of a new musical genre: entechno-laiko (art-popular song). Papanikolaou (2007: 63) claims that the foundations of this new genre – entechno-laiko – were laid following the public intervention of two rising composers of the time: Manos Hadjidakis and Mikis Theodorakis (Papanikolaou 2007; Tragaki 2005). According to Papanikolaou, “Significantly, both have Hadjidakis and Theodorakis at their centre and a common thread in the form of rebetiko, the older popular tradition which became central to the two composers’ reconfigured versions of the high-popular” (Papanikolaou 2007: 63). For both Hadjidakis and Theodorakis, rebetiko signified more than just another urban popular musical genre and a way of living. It constituted the distillation of the “Greek soul”, the expression of folk mentality, and “the path that could lead Greek music to a uniquely new Greek ‘art-popular’ song”.1 This path is exemplified by Epitaphios, a collection of songs composed by Theodorakis. In this album, Theodorakis expressed and crystallized his vision of neoelliniko tragoudi (neohellenic song) by combining features borrowed from Greek folk songs, especially rebetiko, with Western art music. In this way Tragaki reports that: In September 1960 the release of the work Epitaphios composed by Theodorakis stimulated perhaps one the most fervent controversies in the modern history of Greek music among local music experts and intellectuals about a new record release. For Theodorakis ventured an “experiment”: to unite in one musical entity, the world of “art” – the poetry of Giannis Ritsos – with that of contemporary urban folk song represented in the voice of Grigoris Bithikotsis accompanied by a bouzouki-based orchestra. The composer viewed his “experiment” as a way of “giving a new thrust to folk song by giving to it a new content”. (Tragaki 2005: 53)

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Theodorakis’ “experiment” signified the beginning of a new era within Greek popular music, simultaneously changing both the composition and the performance of popular songs. Epitaphios introduced completely new rules for music-making in Greece which changed the field for upcoming generations. Furthermore, and this is particularly important, the album’s composition, its production, and, significantly, its instrumentation were not crystallized on the music score. Despite his formal education, Theodorakis did not choose to embrace a “typical art-music style of composition”.2 On the contrary, he “consciously preferred to shape the Album in the recording studio, where the ability for experimentation and testing were considerably more prominent”.3 Thus, both Theodorakis and Hadjidakis began to familiarize themselves with studio-recording processes, spending a lot of their time trying to find their own recording style. Thus, since 1960, the recording studio has occupied a central role in music production, and “has become the essential laboratory in which musical ideas were being transformed into musical sounds”.4 Increasingly, Greek composers sought to develop their recording techniques by consulting professionals with specialized knowledge. Sound engineers, producers, arrangers, studio conductors, and – of course – studio musicians were such emerging professionals who were previously marginalized within the majority of music production.5 The Greek recording studio was revitalized in the early 1990s, “when on the one hand new recording formats, techniques and practices were established, while, on the other, there was a rekindling of Greek discography”.6 This period saw a new approach to entechno as it was transformed into a mass-produced commodity. Both established and emerging artists, familiar with contemporary recording practices and technology, had the opportunity to tread new musical pathways as well as to combine musical elements from seemingly different music traditions. A new musical genre, this time clearly identified as entechno, “was born within the recording studio”, a locus that has served, both technically and aesthetically, as an inextricable component of this “new” music.7 Twenty years on, debates around the entechno (art song) genre remain vibrant within the Greek public sphere.8 Attempts by intellectuals and academics, especially during the 1960s and 1970s, to theorize, analyze, and categorically define entechno-laiko – the entechno that has been introduced by Theodorakis – had clarified understandings of a controversial musical genre, but also demonstrated a significant disjuncture between the understandings of intellectuals and those of musicians, sound engineers, producers, and audiences. In fact, these debates were – and still are – an ideological struggle that reflects the multiple faces of Greek music and culture in general. Despite entechno’s popularity among the Greek people, regardless of class or educational background, its analytical exploration has been limited within academic literature.9 In fact, most analyses of entechno-laiko to date have primarily focused on its connection with Greek poetry, as well as its lineage and contribution to the establishment of a “Greek National School of Music”.10 Furthermore, the vast majority of analyses of entechno-laiko have focused only on its relevance to rebetiko or laiko tragoudi (popular song), ignoring the multiple aesthetic mutations that have taken place within the genre over recent decades.11 An approach focused on the ways in which entechno is actually produced in the recording studio, therefore, will better inform academic discourse concerning the genre as well as wider debates around popular music in Greece. Thus the aim of this chapter is neither to unfold entechno’s lineage nor to analyze its historical and musicological past or its sociocultural connotations. Rather, the focus is entechno production, particularly as it was developed in the period between the late 1970s and early 2000s, perceived through two theoretical perspectives: amalgamation and hybridization.

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As Hyunju Park (quoted in Frith 2000: 309) aptly notes, “Musicians are blending together musical elements from everywhere and adding to them the musical possibilities afforded by new technologies”. Developing Park’s observation in relation to hybridity and globalization, Frith goes on to argue that: In introducing the concept of hybridity into the discussion ethnomusicologists were not simply pointing at the value of detailed local work on music process, or trying to follow the movement of particular musics through the international trade in sounds and symbols; they were also drawing on broader academic concerns about globalization, concerns inflected by postmodern theory. On the one hand, then, world music could be seen a site on which new sorts of (hybrid) identity are being performed. (Frith 2000: 310) Furthermore, in order to describe amalgamation and hybridization as phenomena perceived in a global context, Feld suggests that “celebratory narratives . . . stress . . . the reappropriation of Western pop, emphasizing fusion forms as rejections of bounded, fixed or essentialized identities. That is, celebratory narratives of world music often focus on the production of hybrid musics” (Feld 2000: 152). I would suggest that the later period of entechno (1980–2000), namely the period in which entechno incorporated global recording practices, in essentially becoming a musical genre programmatically constructed and produced in the recording studio, may be seen as such a hybrid music. I would suggest further that the replacement of entechno-laiko by later entechno was signaled by the incorporation of musical elements derived from the “global” discography mixed with “local” musical practices. This process was made feasible by the development of music technology as well as the establishment of the recording studio as the keystone of entechno production. In order to describe the mixed character of entechno production within the recording studio, I have chosen four case studies spread over two decades, which belong to the so-called modern “entechno scene”. These case studies are used as exemplars to describe the birth and metamorphosis of entechno as it shifted from entechno-laiko, a combination of Greek popular and Western art music, into plain entechno. This “new” entechno, divorced from the term laiko, includes more elements drawn from global discography. In this process of development the term laiko was either replaced by more generic terms, such as Rock, “traditional”, hip-hop, or was simply omitted. In this way, the use of the term entechno became more flexible, especially among those directly involved in its production. Some people “were speaking about entechno-Rock (art-Rock song), some others about entechnoparadosiako (art-traditional), or entechno-folk and entechno-hip-hop, thus attaching to this musical genre a different meaning every time”.12 In this sense, entechno became an umbrella term as well as an analytical category. Furthermore, among musicians, sound engineers, and producers in particular, entechno became a term that was applied to more than one musical genre. For these people, entechno became a synonym for a mode of recording as well as an ideology, ultimately developing into a value-charged term describing a certain aesthetic of production in the studio.13 I would suggest that this process of development has taken shape within the Greek recording studio itself, where music technology, aesthetics, and cultural politics interacted, leading the scene towards new musical pathways.

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The four case studies analyzed below have been selected because they stand at the crossroads between past and current forms of entechno, combining features borrowed from the global discography with resources derived from local music practices, all creatively combined into one musical form. The four case studies on which I base my argument are: (1) Nikos Xydakis’ and Manolis Rasoulis’ I Ekdikisi tis Giftias (The Revenge of Gypsyness), (2) the album Aspromavres Istories (Black and White Stories) by Sokratis Malamas, (3) the return to tradition by Orfeas Peridis and Thanasis Papakonstantinou, and (4) the work of Alkinoos Ioannidis, a performer and innovator of the entechno style. Nikos Xydakis and Manolis Rasoulis: I Ekdikisi tis Giftias (The Revenge of Gypsyness) In 1978, an album was released that was intended to rock the boat of modern Greek discography. The album was entitled I Ekdikisi tis Giftias (The Revenge of Gypsyness) and comprised songs by the young composer Nikos Xydakis. All of the album’s lyrics were written by Manolis Rasoulis, whose work was grounded in the laiko and rebetiko forms. Rasoulis’ lyrics combined sentimental themes with leftist political commentary on contemporary socio-political issues,14 in a writing style that had deep roots in the Greek tradition and musical history, yet was able to communicate contemporary cultural issues (Sykka 2011). The producer of I Ekdikisi tis Giftias (The Revenge of Gypsyness), and a key figure behind its overall aesthetics, was Dionysis Savvopoulos. The most renowned songwriter of that era, Savvopoulos has since been referred to in the Greek public sphere as the “Greek Bob Dylan”, as well as the most prominent carrier of the tradition of Italian and French troubadours.15 The album also featured Níkos Papazoglou, a performer who had already cooperated with Savvopoulos, as lead singer.16 This was Papazoglou’s debut appearance on the recording scene, not only as a performer but also as a sound engineer. In his Agrotikon recording studio based in Thessaloniki, some of the most popular entechno recordings were later supervised by Papazoglou himself (Milonas 2002, 2009). I Ekdikisi tis Giftias (The Revenge of Gypsyness) includes 13 songs, each with an autonomous theme, reflecting Rasoulis’ preoccupation with issues of destiny and spirituality. The recording style inaugurates practices that had not previously appeared. The domination of the bouzouki is evident in some songs; however, as Rasoulis explained to me in a personal conversation, there was a conscious attempt to disengage it from the recording techniques through which it was previously captured. Rasoulis characteristically reported to me that “we wanted to do a very Greek album, while, on the other hand, creating a recording that would not only address a confined Greek audience”. “There are no borders in music, Dimitris”, he used to say.17 Since the Album represented an unambiguous intention to deviate from established recording norms, Rasoulis sought to record all instruments used in the recording, especially the bouzouki, through innovative techniques. To accomplish this aim, a single bouzouki was placed to the right-hand side of the stereo signal, unaccompanied by a second bouzouki, as was common practice in the vast majority of entechno-laiko recordings. This recording technique thus gave a sense of each musician’s location, while at the same time transfusing liveliness and a feeling of spontaneous playing into the recording room. As my ethnographic research confirms, this choice was not coincidental but was a conscious attempt to associate this recording with an aesthetic imported from abroad.18 In this case, for example, the bouzouki references countrystyle mandolin or banjo both in terms of playing techniques and sound aesthetics.

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The use of guitar and percussion, as well as the wider rhythm section in this recording, evidences similar aesthetic choices. Especially in the first track entitled “Vrechei stin Ethniki Odo” (It is Raining on the National Road), one can effortlessly perceive in the timbre and style of playing of the acoustic guitar an aesthetic contrasting with typical entechno-laiko recordings. The guitarist plays an arpeggio in 3/4 rhythm, incorporating sophisticated harmonic structures that would be unusual during the entechno-laiko era. Moreover, in contrast to entechno-laiko recordings, the guitar is accompanied by congas rather than a drum-set. Similarly, in the rest of the album, the drums are replaced by the traditional toumperleki19 as well as by the riq20 or the defi21 (tambourine). All of these instruments were absent from entechno-laiko recordings, since they were perceived as being associated with “oriental” musical traditions.22 All the above features indicate a conscious intent of aesthetic change, a segue into something acoustically new.23 A Rock-Entechno Artist: Sokratis Malamas’ Aspromavres Istories (Black and White Stories) Sokratis Malamas, an established entechno artist and his Rock debut Album entitled Aspromavres Istories (Black and White Stories) was released approximately ten years after the release of Nikos Xydakis’ I Ekdikisi tis Giftias (The Revenge of Gypsyness), reflecting in interesting ways the legacy of that earlier album’s success. Sokratis Malamas had formerly played in Nikos Papazoglou’s orchestra as a session musician,24 and Nikos Papazoglou had encouraged him to enter the recording studio and produce his own songs. Malamas’ first approach to the Greek musicrecording industry was rejected by the dominant entechno music label Lyra, as his proposed album was perceived to be “non-commercial” (Papaioannou 2013). Interestingly, Malamas’ failure to enter the “official” Greek music industry gave Papazoglou the opportunity to experiment more during the recording of this album. The acoustic result is a “dark” sound environment which combines features from both the Anglophone recording tradition of the alternative Rock scene and simultaneous references to some of the sounds that had already been introduced onto the Greek scene, such as Trypes’ Party ston 13o Orofo (Party on the 13th Floor).25 Malamas’ songs were, on the one hand, based on complex harmonic sequences played on the acoustic guitar, and, on the other, on typical Greek melodic and rhythmical styles with direct reference to the Aegean lute tradition. The presence and recording technique of the double-bass has also been notable. The doublebass principally plays pizzicato, establishing a continuity with the rest of the plucked string instruments while filling the gap of the frequency spectrum of the guitar, without any remarkable sonic or melodic autonomy. Thus, it seems that the double-bass in this recording serves a multilayered role, which is a quintessentially new development. In addition, one can clearly discern its central location in the recording stereophony, which becomes especially noticeable in songs where the Rock idiom is less pronounced, and the drum-set is absent.26 In contrast, purely “Rock” tracks on this album, such as “Karfi” (Nail) or “Laspes” (Mud), have been recorded with reference to prominent British groups such as the Rolling Stones and Pink Floyd, or the “singer/songwriter” sound of Bob Dylan. Coupled with the sound of the electric guitar and the rhythm section (bass and drums), one can detect the use of a brass section, something entirely absent from earlier entechno recordings. Both Xydakis’ I Ekdikisi tis Giftias (The Revenge of Gypsyness) and Malamas’ Aspromavres Istories (Black and White Stories) played significant roles in the regeneration and reconfiguration that occurred on the entechno music

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scene and exemplify transformations which subsequently became more widespread. Both cases particularly illustrate the aesthetic shift from entechno-laiko to entechno and the emergence of a modern, urban musical style that was primarily produced, composed, as well as performed in the recording studio.27 While these projects have a common denominator in the presence of Nikos Papazoglou, who, as we will see below, has had a catalytic effect on the formation of the new musical genre, they have different origins. The former, namely I Ekdikisi tis Giftias (The Revenge of Gypsyness), sought the renegotiation of the rebetiko-laiko song genre in postmodern terms, embracing various recording practices and incorporating them into the local music process, as well as approaching local musics from a transnational perspective. In contrast, the latter, namely Aspromavres Istories (Black and White Stories), attempts to introduce a Rock aesthetic into the Greek ballad. The following case studies present a different agenda again, within which the aesthetic imperative revolves around the quest for a “Greek music tradition”. The Issue of Tradition: Orfeas Peridis and Thanasis Papakonstantinou Orfeas Peridis, often referred to by his fans as the “Greek lyrical troubadour”, constitutes another significant link in the “musical chain” of entechno. He is a special case in the entechno scene, since he underwent a Western classical music education28 and became prominent through his participation in 1991 in the Song Contest in Kalamata, organized and conducted by Manos Hadjidakis.29 Peridis entered Greek music discography in 1989, featuring as a guest contributor to Nikos Papazoglou’s album Synerga (Tools), for which he composed three songs and also played guitar. In this album, Orfeas Peridis introduced a musical style previously associated with the Greek rural music tradition, which urban musicians usually refer to as paradosi (tradition).30 Perídis often referred explicitly to the terms paradosi and laika tragoudia (folk songs) in our personal interview in order to explain his musical influences. Nevertheless, in the same interview Peridis said to me: Paradosi [tradition] is more there to inspire me, than to give me its material . . . the paradosiaka tragoudia [traditional songs] speak always directly in the heart. In our heart. This makes it very easy for one to understand them, and even easier to reproduce them. Furthermore, Orfeas Peridis included in his lyrics terms such as “Tourkikos Kafes” (Turkish Coffee), which plainly refer to the “oriental” side of Greek culture. Such lyrics, combined with melodic and rhythmical elements as well as Turkish or Arabic instruments, gave a fresh look to the new entechno.31 In his first solo album entitled Ach! Psychi mou Fantasmeni (Oh! my Bumptious Soul), Orfeas Peridis introduced certain new recording styles, using audio effects, electronic devices, as well as drum machines, combined with acoustic instruments associated with “the East”, including oud, bagpipes, and traditional flutes, as well as Mediterranean percussion.32 In the same album, a turn towards the maqam musical system is apparent,33 as well as a tendency to use rhythmic patterns such as the tsifteteli and argo zeibekiko (slow zeibekiko). Peridis’ most significant contribution to the development of entechno music into its current form may be detected in his second album entitled Kali sou Mera an Ksypnas (Good Morning if You’re Waking Up). In this album, Peridis created an entechno song based on Greek traditional

Producing Entechno: A Controversial Musical Style • 89

music, incorporating elements of the past that could be transformed into a modern sound.34 The first track of this album, called “Ta Tragoudia mou t’ Amerikanika” (My American Songs), engaged in meaningful word-play by rhyming the word amerikanika (American) with tsamika (referring to the Greek folk dance known as tsamiko). Olo metafrazo stichous/ apo ta tragoudia mou t’ amerikanika/ Allazo tous rythmous tous ichous/ kai apo Rock n’ Roll ta kano tsamika/ [I always translate the lyrics from my American songs I change the rhythms and the sounds turning them from Rock ‘n Roll into tsamika] These lyrics encapsulate the change of direction in the field of entechno music that had already been foreshadowed in the early 1980s, when Dionysis Savvopoulos35 and other artists talked aboutg a “Greek Rock Music” integrated into a “Balkan soul”.36 For this purpose, Peridis constructed songs like “Kali sou Mera an Ksypnas” (Good Morning if You’re Waking Up) or “Karderina” (Yellowbird), in which the pipes converse with the electric bass, and the pendir is framed by modern digital effects. Thanasis Papakonstantinou Another artist who sought to establish links with the Greek past was Thanasis Papakonstantinou, a singer/songwriter born in Larisa,37 who in 1993 produced his first album entitled Agia Nostalgia (Holy Nostalgia). In this album Papakonstantinou tries to inaugurate an alternative sound that contains immediate references to the paradosiaka sound, by using the lute, the bouzouki, and the bouzoukomana (lit. “bouzouki-mother”), a hybrid instrument made by him, inspired by the ancient tamboura.38 In this album, Papakonstantinou also sought to establish a recording style which incorporated the narration of myths, stories, and fairy-tales between musical tracks, augmented by the inclusion of digital sampling of speech and natural soundscapes. 39 Most importantly, Thanasis Papakonstantinou has been the first composer-songwriter for many years to create an original repertoire tailored for the lute and bouzouki.40 Furthermore, Papakonstantinou also established a completely different performing style on stage. In contrast to earlier songwriters who performed standing up, Papakonstantinou, always plays sitting on a chair and placing his instrument on his knees, a direct reference to old-school laiko and rebetiko performances. Despite such references to the past, the development of a postmodern entechno, seeking to transcend restricted Greek aesthetical standards, continued up until the turn of the twenty-first century, when a new generation of songwriters following in the footsteps of their forerunners created its own style. Among the most acclaimed of them is the Cypriot, Alkinoos Ioannidis. The New Generation: Alkinoos Ioannidis Alkinoos Ioannidis is separated by almost a decade from the previous musical generation. Although he entered Greek discography in 1993, Ioannidis was originally known as a singer

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and performer of songs composed by others, introducing himself as a songwriter only in 1997.41 As he characteristically reported to me during an interview, “I used to write songs, but I believed that I could perform better a song composed by someone else, than a song made by myself.” 42 As a result, he began his career as a singer/performer instead of as a singer/songwriter. Ioannidis’ presence in the entechno discography was remarkable not only for his contribution to the formation of the new entechno style, but also as the sign of a new era that began in the early 1960s and culminated in the early 2000s following fluctuations and transformations in the technoculture of Greek musical production. As Andrew Ross points out: It is important to understand technology not as a mechanical imposition on our lives but as a fully cultural process, soaked through with social meanings that only make sense in the context of familiar kinds of behavior. (Ross, quoted in Lysloff and Gay 2003: 2) Ioannidis’ debut album as a songwriter, entitled O Dromos, o Chronos kai o Ponos (The Road, the Time and the Pain), constituted a pivotal moment in entechno’s discography, when it became clear that both the sound quality and high standard of musical skills were core requirements during recording sessions.43 In addition, according to my ethnographic interviews, both the selection of the session musicians and sound engineers and the choice of recording studio were steps within a wider, well-planned agenda for the successful outcome of this production.44 Thus, Ioannidis had consciously chosen to invite musicians with roots in the jazz scene, looking for a sound that was based on jazz virtuosity and improvisation. At the same time he looked for a mixed style, where a string quartet met the Greek island lute, baroque flutes were accompanied by guitar lutes playing themes in counterpoint, and finally the electric guitar conversed with the electric violin, all through the use of digital sound effects. All these elements have been part of a “cosmopolitan” perception, integrated into Ioannidis’ recording practices, as they have been imprinted on both his earlier and later productions.45 Despite Ioannidis’ late prominence, his style seems to have crystallized following his pursuit of studies in classical composition and orchestration. This change is directly reflected in his later albums, such as Anemodeiktis (Weathervane) and Neroponti (Rainstorm), in which Western art music becomes a key feature of his songwriting style. Furthermore, Ioannidis’ productions have been characterized by an “art music” logic, within which classical forms are interwoven with songwriting techniques, in turn producing an intriguing hybrid sound. In this sense, Ioannídis’ case finalizes the larger changes as these occurred in the previous decades and are still distinctive within the entechno field. Conclusion In the almost two decades covered in this chapter, there has been a significant shift from composing “on” the music score to producing “in” the recording studio.46 Music technology has been central in providing potential for the invention of new musical paths in which cultural boundaries were not always clear. Within the Greek popular music scene, the establishment of the recording studio, as well as the development of new recording practices, operated as catalysts in the formation and consolidation of entechno, creating as a result a compelling osmosis of different musical traditions and recording styles (Wicke 2011: 42–44).

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This chapter has consciously avoided analysis of the socio-cultural framework within which entechno music came into being. Such an analysis, orientated towards the politics of entechno, is beyond the scope of the current work, and would require a more focused enquiry into Greek society, based on perspectives from audiences, musicians, and sound engineers in order to present a wider and more nuanced view of the development of entechno. This chapter has rather focused specifically upon the historical trajectory of changes in recording aesthetics within the entechno genre, based entirely on interviews conducted with entechno musicians, sound engineers, and producers. The analysis of the case studies presented here leads to some initial conclusions about the controversial nature of entechno and summarized below: 1 2 3 4

Entechno-laiko was transformed into simply entechno through a consolidation of music aesthetics and recording technology. The new entechno became an amalgam and hybrid music genre in itself. Entechno was – and still is – a contested musical genre. An analysis of entechno focusing on recording practices provides us with important information about the elements of its historical formation as well as its mixed musical content.

Furthermore, an analysis focusing on the recording studio may be instrumental in illustrating issues that, despite their contestation, were hidden or sidelined in debates around entechno for decades. Terms like entechno-laiko, entechno-Rock, and so on systematically created a fragmentation of the genre that allowed for the existence of a multiplicity of definitions that were often customized to personal beliefs, different origins, and multiple historical trajectories. As Vassilis Krimpas, a key radio producer of entechno, told me, “in different historical periods, entechno has continually been loaded with different connotations”.47 Nevertheless, an analysis focusing on recording aesthetics can identify some common ground which unifies the multiple faces of entechno, taking into account not only the disparities but also the similarities. These similarities may be identified in the common recording techniques, the aesthetic norms in the recording studio, and the programmatic pursuit of sound alternation. Thereby, entechno has been transformed from a musical genre into a musical canon and aesthetic manifesto, embracing diverse musical features, but always engaging with the historical, cultural, and aesthetic demands of its era. This is why entechno music has usually been described through the use of hyphenated, composite genre terms. Despite the complexity of these phenomena, there is still a tendency to define entechno through descriptive terms, which makes it crucial to discern some outcomes from the analysis of the above examples that could identify fundamental defining strategies within entechno. First of all, both an examination of the musical products of entechno and the ethnographic interviews I conducted in the course of this research showed that, especially in the early 1980s, there has been a quest for renegotiating the words paradosiako (traditional) and laiko (popular) in both musical and cultural terms. This renegotiation was accompanied by a fascination with a global, “ethnic” sound that was associated with both external and internal musical practices. In other words, the preoccupation with traditionality and folk-ness developed partly organically based on pre-existing elements, and partly as a result of a wider interest in local musics that could serve as primary material for hybridity. This programmatic statement expressed by singer/songwriters constitutes the starting point for the creation of an implicit aesthetic manifesto within the new entechno. In the case of

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I Ekdikisi tis Giftias (The Revenge of Gypsyness), neither the former rebetiko nor laiko music could be incorporated unchanged within the new entechno recordings. There was a quest, then, for transformation, for a shift from an “authentic” to a “new” sound which contained features of the archaic, while at the same time being inspired by an innovative sensibility.48 In the second example, Sokratis Malamas sought to introduce an alternative entechno style distilled through a Rock aesthetic, albeit with reference to the aesthetic particularities of Greek song. For this purpose, Malamas called forth his experience with Rock groups and mixed it with local practices and Greek songwriting features. Thus, Malamas, in collaboration with Papazoglou, created a new sound that was ultimately not Rock but entechno par excellence. Although the issue of tradition was a concern of Greek discography from the early 1980s, it was not until the early 1990s that it appeared as a central discourse within the field of entechno. Orfeas Peridis and Thanasis Papakonstantinou, inspired by a quest for returning to their “roots”, created a postmodern version of tradition, in which not only the “new” but also the “old” was reflected. Moreover, this entechno trend has served as the most iconic of all entechno combinations, and perhaps even the most commercial. The above-mentioned features – a renegotiation of tradition, the dialogue with “world music”, particularly with musics commonly identified as “oriental”, and therefore “other”, to Greekness, and, finally, the renewed interest in Greek roots which were examined respectively in the first three case studies – may all be found in Alkinoos Ioannidis’ productions. Thus, in Ioannidis’ music, one can detect a sense of rebetiko and laiko music in their interpretation of early entechno,49 the Rock aesthetic intervention of the later entechno50 as well as the paradosiaka sound. This latter component is incorporated from Ioannidis’ own experience within the traditional music of Cyprus, while at the same time referring to the Greek paradosiaka genre, as it is encapsulated within the later representations of Greek music traditions.51 All the above claims are epitomized in Ioannidis’ stage performance where he plays a variety of instruments, including the acoustic guitar, the electric guitar, the Greek island lute, and, often, baroque flutes. A second outcome of the transformations evidenced in the above examples is that entechno, in all of its facets, has come to extend beyond its original form as a musical genre and an analytical category of popular music in Greece. Rather, entechno is now seen as representing a style or approach to music-making and sound production in the recording studio, rather than as a particular point in the spectrum of Greek popular music. It is this feature of entechno as a way of making music that can unify the disruptions evident in its various hyphenated subgenres, expanding beyond stylistic differences and establishing a broader creative movement. Despite, or perhaps because of, its controversial and equivocal character, entechno in all its historical forms emerges as a revealing case study for inquiring into contemporary popular music in Greece. An anthropological-ethnomusicological analysis that focuses on recording practice provides revealing ethnographic material, not only in technical but also in cultural terms. In this sense, an ethnography of the entechno recording studio highlights those aesthetic elements that have frequently been hidden or obscured by the analysis of the textual references and compositional codes that were inherent within this musical field.52 Finally, it is important to note that my analysis was informed by my own experience in the recording studio, both as an ethnomusicologist and as a musician. Entechno was the music that I performed from the beginning of my musical life. Although I originally saw it as just another musical genre, albeit one of particular appeal to me, during the more than two years of ethnographic observation in recording studios in Athens, added to over 20 years’ participation in musical groups, recordings, and concerts, I was persuaded that my involvement with entechno

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has been the gateway into a wider musical realm that has expanded my horizons. Thus I came to realize that what I really love about entechno is not a particular sound, but the diverse, multiple, and ultimately open-ended spectrum of possibilities which it presents. Acknowledgments I would like to thank all my interviewees – songwriters, musicians, sound engineers, and producers – who shared with me their rich experience, their knowledge, and their opinions, offering the necessary material for writing this chapter. I wish also to thank Dr. Ioannis Tsioulakis for his constant patience in editing my English. Notes 1 2 3 4 5 6 7 8 9 10 11 12 13 14 15

16 17 18 19 20 21 22 23 24 25 26

27

Yiorgos Dalaras, personal communication, November, 2014. Unless otherwise indicated, all direct quotes come from ethnographic interviews with the authors. Nikos Antypas, personal communication, November, 2014. Yiannis Papaioannou, personal communication, September, 2012. Yiannis Papaioannou, personal communication, September, 2012. Nikos Antypas, personal communication, November, 2014. Yiorgos Dalaras, personal communication, November, 2014. Nikos Antypas, personal communication, November, 2014. For more details regarding entechno song as analytical category see Papanikolaou (2007: 62–64). The lack of popular music departments in Greek universities is certainly a contributing factor. For a more detailed presentation of the entechno-laiko debate and the issue of a national identity see Papanikolaou (2007: 61–63), Tsioulakis (2010: 13–18), and Tragaki (2005: 51–53). On rebetiko cultural identity see also Tragaki (2007). Vassilis Krimpas, personal communication, September, 2013. Ilias Lakkas, personal communication, November, 2014. Except for one song entitled “Kaneis Edo Den Tragouda” (Nobody Here Sings), which hasperhaps been the most popular song within this album. Dionysis Savvopoulos had already been famous as a songwriter and producer from the early 1970s. In addition, Savopoulos tried to create his own label at Lyra, the best-known music label for entechno recordings. In parallel to Lyra, Lyra’s owner, Alekos Patsifas, has established another label in order to support the remarkable production in the northern part of Greece. Located in Thessaloniki, the label, called I Lyra tou Vora (North’s Lyra), has released some of the most popular entechno albums. Among others, such as Dimitris Kontogiannis, Sofia Diamanti, and Dionysis Savvopoulos. Rasoulis told me this during our rehearsals for a tour (summer, 2010). This statement was later confirmed to me by Papaioannou during our interview. Moreover, he said to me that there has been an intensive effort by the composers in this era to differentiate them from the mainstream Greek sound. Goblet drum; a single-headed membranophone hand percussion instrument common throughout the Eastern Mediterranean and the Middle East. Here I mean the arabic riq, a percussion instrument made of fish leather combined with little metallic cymbals. However, in entechno recordings’ credits this instrument is usually written as rek or req. Handheld frame drum with attached pairs of metal cymbals. On the Eastern influences in the Greek recording process see also Papaioannou (2010). There are also non-acoustic elements leading to the same argument, such as cover design or lyrics. These features are beyond the scope of this chapter which deals with the sound itself. The lead singer as well the sound engineer in the album entitled I Ekdikisi tis Giftias (The Revenge of Gypsyness). Trypes (The Holes) are a famous Rock band from Thessaloniki. Their first album was recorded in 1987 in Papazoglou’s Agrotikon studio with Papazoglou’s as sound engineer and producer. The term “semi-Rock” is occasionally used to make a distinction between tracks that present a Hard-Rock sound, performed by a “pure” Rock band, and those that contain a softer, more acoustic, unplugged sound. Examples of these latter tracks are “Ola t’ Arniemai” (I Refuse Everything) or “Anases Viastikes “ (Hasty Breaths). The term was used during an ethnographical interview by N.K., a musician who participated in entechno recordings. During this period, and to some extent today, popular music was generally produced in the studio and was performed later on stage. In contrast, during the rebetiko, laiko, and early entechno-laiko era, music was mostly shaped on stage, in a live performance, and, if approved by the audience, could be recorded. In the modern version

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28 29

30 31 32 33 34 35 36 37 38 39 40 41 42 43 44 45 46 47 48 49 50 51 52

of entechno, then, most of the songs were already well known before the artist performed them in front of an audience. Orfeas Peridis studied classical guitar and harmony at music conservatories in Athens. Manos Hadjidakis was a very famous composer and intellectual who was born in Greece. He composed numerous songs, film music, and chamber music. His subversive character as well as his homosexuality have to a great extent led him into constant conflict with everything representing authority and political power. In this sense, he has been the first of a cycle of intellectuals who defended rebetiko’s brutal character, as well as its unconventional nature. On the term paradosiaka see also Kallimopoulou (2009: 2-4). On Eastern traditional instruments in the Greek territory see also Kallimopoulou (2009: 47–56). Vangelis Karipis, personal communication, November, 2014. Ottoman art music. Thymios Papadopoulos, personal communication, October, 2014. See also Papanikolaou (2006, 2007). Vassilis Krimpas, personal communication, September, 2013. This phrase was used during my interview with B.X., an entechno musician, and for many years Savvopoulos’ assistant. Larissa is a provincial town in central Greece, located north of Athens and south of Thessaloniki. The Larissa area is famous for its music tradition. Dimitris Mystakidis, personal communication, November, 2014. This feature is dominant especially in his later albums, such as Vrachnos Profytis (Hoarse Prophets) or Agrypnia (Wakefulness). Dimitris Mystakidis, personal communication, November, 2014. The songs in Ioannidis’ first two albums were composed and produced by Nikos Zoudiaris. Ioannidis, personal communication, February, 2008. This opinion was expressed to me by Ioannidis in the context of an ethnographic interview. This album was recorded at Sierra recording studio, the most popular recording studio in the entechno discography. For a detailed definition of musical cosmopolitanism see Stokes (2007). On the aesthetic approach of musical recording see Wicke (2011), Greene (2005), and Lysloff and Gay (2003). Vassilis Krimpas, personal communication, September, 2013. On the term “authentic”, “pure”, and “real” in the music field see Feld (2000: 152). See e.g. “Osa i Agapi Oneirevetai” (Everything that Love is Dreaming), his older “Thelo na Pio Olon ton Vosporo” (I Want to Drink the Whole Bosporus), and “Stin Agora tou Al Chalili” (At the Al-Challis’ Market), or the later “Stin Agora Tou Kosmou”(At the World’s Market). See songs such as “Arachni” (The Spider), or “Edgar Allan Poe”, dedicated to the famous poet. Dynameis tou Aigaiou (Aegean’s forces), Ross Daly, and so on. See also Kallimopoulou (2009: 85–87). On phenomenological analysis and ethnography in the recording studio see Porcello (2003).

Bibliography Feld, Steven. 2000. “A Sweet Lullaby for World Music.” Public Culture 12(1): 145–171. Frith, Simon. 2000. “The Discourse of World Music.” In Western Music and its Others: Difference, Representation, and Appropriation in Music, ed. Georgina Born and David Hesmondhalgh. Berkeley: University of California Press, pp. 305–320. Greene, Paul D. 2005. “Introduction: Wired Sound and Sonic Cultures.” In Wired for Sound: Engineering and Technologies in Sonic Cultures, ed. Paul D. Greene and Thomas Porcello. Middletown, CT: Wesleyan University Press, pp. 1–22. Kallimopoulou, Eleni. 2009. Paradosiaka: Music, Meaning and Identity in Modern Greece. Farnham, Surrey, and Burlington, VT: Ashgate. Kounenaki, Pegky (Ed.). 1998. “To Tragoudi Stin Paranga Tou Aiona.” Kathimerini/Epta Imeres. April 26. Liavas, Lampros. 2009. To Elliniko Tragoudi apo to 1821 eos ti Dekaetia tou 1950. Athens: Emporiki Trapeza tis Ellados. Lysloff, René T.A. and Leslie. C. Gay. 2003. “Introduction: Ethnomusicology in the Twenty-First Century.” In Music and Technoculture, ed. René T.A. Lysloff and Leslie. C. Gay. Middletown, CT: Wesleyan University Press, pp. 1–22. Milonas, Kostas. 2002. Elliniki Mousiki: Istorika Orosima. Athens: Nefeli. Milonas, Kostas. 2009. Istoria tou Ellinikou Tragoudiou 1981–1995, Vol. 4. Athens: Kedros. Papageorgiou, Fouli. T. 1997. “Popular Music and the Music Industry in Greece.” In Whose Master’s Voice? The Development of Popular Music in Thirteen Cultures, ed. Alison. J. Ewbank and Fouli.T. Papageorgiou. Westport, CY: Greenwood Press, pp. 67–88. Papaioannou, Xryssoula. 2013. “Sokratis Malamas: Doulepsa 18 Chronia sta Skyladika.” To Pontiki/Pontiki Art (310), April 29. Available at www.topontiki.gr/article/ 52345/ Sokratis-Malamas-Doulepsa-18-Xronia-sta-Skyladika (accessed June 18, 2014). Papaioannou, Yiannis. 2010. Piso ap to Tzami. Athens: Thalassi.

Producing Entechno: A Controversial Musical Style • 95 Papanikolaou, Dimitris. 2006. “Ksanadiavazontas ton Elliniko Kosmo tou Dionysi Savvopoulou.” In The Greek World from Enlightenment to the 20th Century, vol. III, ed. K. Dimadis. Athens: Ellinika Grammata, pp. 647–656. Papanikolaou, Dimitris. 2007. Singing Poets: Literature and Popular Music in France and Greece. London: Legenda. Porcello, Thomas. 1996. “Sonic Artistry: Music, Discourse and Technology in a Sound Recording Studio.” PhD dissertation, The University of Texas at Austin. Porcello, Thomas. 2003. “Tails Out: Social Phenomenology and the Ethnographic Representation of Technology in Music-Making.” In Music and Technoculture, ed. René.T. Lysloff and Leslie.C. Gay. Middletown, CT: Wesleyan University Press, pp. 1–22. Stokes, Martin. 2007. “On Musical Cosmopolitanism.” The Macalester International Roundtable 2007. Paper 3. Available at http://digitalcommons.macalester.edu/intlrdtable/3 (accessed June 12, 2015). Sykka, Giota. 2011. “I dynami tis ‘Ekdikisis tis Gyftias.’” Kathimerini / Arheio Politismou, March 15. Available at www.kathimerini.gr/421417/article/politismos/arxeio-politismoy/h-dynamh-ths-ekdikhshs-ths-gyftias (accessed June 18, 2014). Titon, Jeff Todd. 2008. “Knowing Fieldwork.” In Shadows in the field: New Perspectives for Fieldwork in Ethnomusicology, Second Edition, ed. Gregory. F. Barz and Timothy. J. Cooley. New York and Oxford: Oxford University Press, pp. 25–42. Tragaki, Dafni. 2005. “‘Humanizing the Masses’: Enlightened Intellectuals and the Music of the People.” In The Mediterranean in Music: Critical Perspectives, Common Concerns, Cultural Differences, ed. D. Cooper and K. Dawe. Lanham, MD: Scarecrow Press, pp. 49–76. Tragaki, Dafni. 2007. Rebetiko Worlds. Ethnomusicology and Ethnography in the City. Newcastle: Cambridge Scholars Publishing. Tsioulakis, Ioannis. 2010. “Working or Playing? Power, Aesthetics and Cosmopolitanism among Professional Musicians in Athens.” PhD dissertation, Queen’s University Belfast, Ireland. Wicke, Peter. 2011. “Zwischen Aufführungspraxis und Aufnahmepraxis: Musikproduktion als Interpretation.” In Ereignis und Exegese: Musikalische Interpretation – Interpretation der Musik. Festschrift für Hermann Danuser zum 65 Geburtstag, ed. Camilla Bork, Tobias Robert Klein, Burkhard Moisten, Andreas Meyer, and Tobias Plebuch. Schliengen: Edition Argus, pp. 42–53.

Discography Ioannidis Alkinoos. 1997. O Dromos, o Chronos kai o Ponos. Polygram: CD 537157. Ioannidis Alkinoos. 1999. Anemodeiktis. Mercury-Universal: CD 546064. Ioannidis Alkinoos. 2006. Pou Dusin os Anatolin. Mercury-Universal: CD 205741. Ioannidis Alkinoos. 2009. Neroponti. Universal: CD 0602527014906. Malamas Sokratis. 1989. Aspromavres Istories. Lyra: LP&CD 4519. Papakonstantinou Thanasis. 1993. Agia Nostalgia. Lyra: LP&CD 4660. Papakonstantinou Thanasis. 2000. Vrachnos Profytis. Lyra: CD 4969. Papakonstantinou Thanasis. 2002. Agrypnia. Lyra: CD 5001. Papazoglou Níkos. 1990. Synerga. Lyra: LP&CD 4559/0051. Peridis Orfeas. 1993. Ach! Psyhi mou Fantasmeni. AKTH: LP&CD 473848. Peridis Orfeas. 1996. Kali sou Mera an Ksypnas. AKTH: LP&CD 484379. Xydakis Nikos/Manolis Rasoulis. 1978. I Ekdikisi tis Gyftias. Lyra: LP&CD 3308.

PART

III

Greekness beyond Greekness Preamble The chapters in Part III, though anchored to diverse theoretical agendas and scholarly backgrounds, introduce scenes and subjectivities made in Greece that question conventional problematics of musical Greekness. Such a departure from mainstream imaginaries of Greek music is intended to offer a refreshing point for contemplating recent musical production against a sui generis understanding of the Greek popular and against its essentialized interpretations. The collectivities and agencies discussed here have thus far barely attracted the attention of music (or else) scholarship. Perhaps this is because of their supposed exceptionality and questionable legitimacy for representing the kind of music Greeks make? Or perhaps it is because of their liminality – almost “local” yet creatively detached from their locality, made in Greece yet not exemplary “Greek”, nor exemplary “popular” – and of comparatively narrow cultural impact. The inclusion of chapters on the work of Lena Platonos or the chip-music scene and the Athenian experimental music venues in a collection of essays devoted to Greek popular music is intended to challenge the sort of epistemological disaffection or discomfort that hitherto allowed limited space for the study of those or similar, until now less legitimate phenomena purposefully unsettling the certainties of our knowledge. Lena Platonos is an electronic music composer, pianist, songwriter, and poet producing a musical sphere defined by the uncanny nature of her sound aesthetics, verses, and themes, where Platonos almost emerges as a genre by herself. In Chapter 7, Gourgouris introduces Platonos as a voice of “unhappy consciousness” that was raised in the midst of the massive boom of 1980s Greek popular music production. Platonos’ creative output, from 1981 to the 1990s, during which she released ten records, provides the prism for what happened in the years that precipitated the “Greek crisis”. Gourgouris contextualizes Platonos’ work within the framework of 1980s cultural populism, the proliferation of mass media, especially of the local record industry, and the emergence of the consumer individual in Greek capitalist society. Although Platonos’ work is located outside the world of the “mass popular”, the magnitude of her impact upon subsequent generations of electronic/experimental music constitutes Platonos as an influential figure of local musical production. The author scrutinizes Platonos’ erotic cosmology emerging within and against a rapidly commoditized reality through a combined focus on sounds and words across her discography, in order to explore her radical musical poiesis as it is performed and realized in her experimental sound aesthetics. In Chapter 8, Polymeropoulou discusses the technoculture of networked creativity defining the Greek chip-music scene based on multi-sited ethnographic research. The transnational flows of chip-music are examined in the realm of its staged performances and its circulation through netlabels. Also known as “chip-tunes”, chip-music is an electronic form of music that uses the sounds of early home computers and videogame consoles. In the 1990s early chip-tuners produced demo audio-visual representations promoting a do-it-yourself demo-scene locally and abroad.

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Gradually, chip-tuners differentiated from the demo-scene, creating the chip-scene that also materialized in online communities fostered by the invention of new software and the broadening of the transnational 8-bit musical community. As the musical producers were also the musical consumers, the chip-music scene was defined and shaped by the power of the audience. The impact of its continuous popularization upon music was manifested in the decline of purist ideology, the changing technocultural attitudes, and the cross-genre opening to popular sounds. Based on social network analysis, Polymeropoulou highlights a set of common features that the Greek chip-music scene shares with similar scenes abroad, namely a community of technologically literate people, the presence of national musical elements, and, more importantly, a collaborative spirit. Despite its rather invisible presence in the landscape of Greek popular music, it is a constantly expanding scene and alert to music/technocultural trends in the rest of the world. In Chapter 9, Stefanou presents experimental music’s changing performance context in post2009 urban venues, raising issues of state cultural politics vis-à-vis the booming of musical collectivities and various do-it-yourself initiatives in crisis-ridden Athens. She provides an overview of the diverse venues hosting experimental musical gigs and artistic events which were forcefully closed by the municipal authorities following state legislation. Focusing on the case of the Knot Gallery venue, Stefanou explores the media discourses legitimizing “experimental sound” aesthetics and its alleged connection with a modernist, avant-garde tradition as becomes clear in the case of the media coverage of the group Mohammad. Athenian-based musicians, the author suggests, constitute a communitas which is fostered by a collective sense of lacking the terms of the musical production and consumption defining the capitalist market. Today, this emergent communitas is caught in a pressing discrepancy between, on the one hand, the international creative economy capitalizing creativity as a value, and, on the other hand, its critical questioning. The spreading of a hegemonic rhetoric that promotes music as a commodity and a mass-mediated product which is practiced by professionals, the author concludes, devalues experimental music’s performative impetus.

7

Musical Poiesis, Erotic Cosmology, and Commodity Life

The Lena Platonos Project Stathis Gourgouris

Lena Platonos is an accomplished pianist and the first Greek composer of electronic music who also qualifies as a songwriter, and even a singer-songwriter, but in ways that certainly stretch the popular imagination. She is also a poet of extraordinary originality. It would be entirely inappropriate to call her a lyricist, because what in her case stretches the songwriter notion, besides her peculiar musicality, is the sui generis character of the verses, both in form and in content. One could object to the presumption of discussing Lena Platonos within a popular music context: she was never a popular artist and never even participated in the requisite forms that constitute the popular in Greece. Yet, her creatively explosive emergence into the Greek musical scene happens exactly at the point when Greek popular music goes into a new and irreversible mass-cultural phase. At this stupefying juncture, Platonos serves as a rare voice of unhappy consciousness in the midst of people who refuse increasingly to be conscious. Regardless of how or whether Platonos participates in the production of the popular, her music remains to this day one of the clearest prisms of what happened in those fateful years. Not only musically and culturally but also socially, since what took place in Greek society in the decade of Platonos’ explosively radical output – ten personal record releases, from Sabotage (1981) to Mi mou tous Kyklous Tarate (Do Not Disturb My Circles, 1990) – provided the basis for, and remains at the core of, what precipitated the current “Greek crisis”.1 I understand that this is a large claim, and certainly here is not the place to explicate and elaborate on its dimensions. But in the barest sense, I would claim that the standard analysis of the Greek crisis as a failure of the financial sector, or even a broader crisis of the Eurozone, is only a partial viewpoint. So is the more social science-minded argument that Greece’s entry into the Eurozone produced a socio-economic excess, whose weight upon a relatively underdeveloped social, financial, and public sector labor system proved to be insurmountable and drove the country into catastrophic debt. However we judge the relative truth of these descriptions, they remain groundless if we don’t seriously engage the extraordinary shift in form and scale that took place in Greek society in the 1980s, where “the popular” emerged as the quintessential signifier in a number of ways. I mention three indisputable ones: (1) the popularization of politics under the government of Andreas Papandreou’s Socialist Party (PASOK), which reconfigured the boundaries and practices of populism in unprecedented and still unsurpassed ways; (2) the proliferation (hence popularization) of media culture, primarily

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via the rapid development of privately owned mass media (radio and television), which set the basis for what has since become a society subjugated to the regime of the image, both real and virtual, iconic and verbal; (3) the identification of popular freedom with the value of pursuing an individualist commodified lifestyle at the expense of any other person sharing the public space, which dismantled any sort of citizen responsibility in the name of an ever-expanding consumer-based ideal. In the context of this social-historical turn characterizing the 1980s, Greek popular music and song, including what became known since as entechno in opposition to laiko,2 may be said to have entered its first true commercial phase, in the sense that music (of all the genres) is specifically produced for a mass public in an industrial fashion. The only analogy to this phenomenon previously in Greece would be the popular film industry of the 1960s and early 1970s, where music was, of course, a key element but nonetheless dependent on film audiences and rather limited radio play for its commodification, and this was primarily in the form of single hit songs produced in 45rpm records. But the popular Greek film industry during that period was addressed to a specific part of society: a petty-bourgeois sensibility, which found in cinema’s iconic narratives the path towards class ascension as well as confirmation of their inveterate moral values. In contrast, the 1980s signaled an explosion in the production of Greek consumer culture across the board, which may also be said to have signaled, in chiastic reversal, the first instance of a Greek culture of consumers, regardless of class, gender, or any other social markers. In this climate, the star status of singers began to overshadow that of composers and, with the exception of established composers and budding groups or personalities emerging from the Rock music world, the art of innovative composition has been entirely underplayed. So, it is not surprising that the pioneering work of Lena Platonos seems to operate almost as a phantom, despite the composer’s recognition among her peers (especially within the sphere of the great composer Manos Hadjidakis). In this sense, Platonos cannot be said to belong to popular music. Yet, the magnitude of her influence is indisputable, starting with synth-pop or post-punk darkwave underground scenes in youth Rock circles at the time. The subsequent achievements of electronic music in the 1990s and later would have been inconceivable without the legacy of the Platonos recordings of the previous decade.3 In the typical gesture underlining the need of minor cultures to place themselves in an international framework, Lena Platonos is often described as the Laurie Anderson of Greek music. The comparison is certainly fair, particularly in the sense that both share uniquely personal, often surreal, narrative renditions of surrounding quotidian reality performed by various manipulations of electronic media (like Anderson, Platonos was the first to use electronic distortions of the human voice), and delivered in deadpan fashion in what is a characteristically female sensibility, without, however, drawing attention to itself as that. Anderson too engages throughout a rather slanted relation to the popular, much like Platonos. But for me, a less recognizable figure comes to mind as a possible comparison: Annette Peacock. A pianist as well – Anderson’s instrument is the violin – Peacock exemplifies the same sui generis compositional technique and vocal delivery, sometimes narrative, at other times incantational, where the sung words follow the circuitous piano line, as well as the fact of having been the first woman in the jazz sphere – which is nominally her musical context, though she exceeds it – to compose and perform with synthesizers, starting with her Moog improvisations (on a prototype given to her by the maker himself) already in 1970.This gesture of comparison, I repeat, is of service to an audience that seeks to place a configuration of a minor culture in a broader base. As such, it is

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always off the mark, but because the category of affinity in music is unavoidable and yet totally undecidable, the rare snippet of Platonos singing in English while sitting at the piano on Greek television in 1982 would elicit an instant association with Peacock to anyone who knows and listens.4 The daughter of Georgios Platon, composer of chamber and orchestral music as well as premier pianist of the National Opera who taught her music theory as a child, Lena Platonos had by all accounts been a child prodigy at the piano since the age of 2. Learning everything by ear and raised in a musical household, she went off to study piano at the Berlin and Vienna Academies in the early 1970s after an initial apprenticeship at the Athens Conservatory, with the prospect of a concert pianist career. Almost everyone who knew Platonos in her youth speaks of one of the most talented pianists ever to emerge in postwar Greece. However, her time in Vienna proved decisive in her exposure to a range of musical variants outside the classical repertoire: jazz, Rock, and various non-Western musical traditions. Platonos herself quips characteristically that “what I remember most from Vienna was Jethro Tull.”5 Witness accounts of these early years corroborate the fact that Platonos was always driven towards exploration and experimentation, and, despite her prodigious talent and learning in classical piano, she never quite found rest in instrumental expertise and canonical performance. Returning to Greece in the late Junta period, Platonos sought out performance in various contemporary group formats, desiring to record song compositions with English-language verses which never materialized in the nationalist climate of the day. Instead, her compositional debut took place in the context of Lillipoupoli, a legendary children’s program on Greek State Radio, which was conceived of and supervised by Hadjidakis and involved some of the most important young talent in music and theater at the time. Platonos refers repeatedly to the experience as an extraordinary school by virtue of the collaborative atmosphere, the extremely pressured deadlines, and the arbitrary restrictions on instrumentation that would change from day to day. “These restrictions forced us to think big. It’s restriction that brings about the sublime. Only through restriction can you overcome your limits.”6 The show ran between 1974 and 1980 under a great deal of controversy, expressly maligned by the post-Junta right-wing government as leftist propaganda, since the children’s world it created bore a discernible critical gloss on the social and political scene of the day. The young Lena Platonos emerged in this show as the composer of signature songs intended to teach children specific colors, such as “Rosa Rosalia I to Roz Chroma” (Roza Rozalia or the Pink Color), “O Horos ton Bizelion I to Prasino Chroma” (The Dance of Peas or the Green Color), and the supremely surreal “I Mayioneza I to Kitrino Chroma” (Mayonnaise or the Yellow Color). The words to the songs of Lillipoupoli were written by Marianina Kriezi, one of the most original lyricists in Greek music, whose fame has not been analogous to her talent largely because of her lack of interest in pursuing a public persona. This mutually inspiring collaboration between Platonos and Kriezi continued in the groundbreaking album Sabotage (1981), which inaugurated Platonos’ career as a composer, as well as the sharing of her work with the singers Yiannis Palamidas and SavinaYannatou (both only 22 years old at the time), who become, along with Elli Paspala, her vocal companions and interpreters throughout her career. Sabotage was completely unique, a musical event without a precise provenance. The work refuses categorization; it belongs neither to laiko nor to entechno, even though one may discern occasional traces of a general Hadjidakian sensibility and specific Lillipoupoli elements. But it also does not, strictly speaking, belong to the Rock music world. In the post-Junta environment of explicitly political songs of stagnant musicality (a notable exception in this regard would be Thanos Mikroutsikos), as well as popular bouzouki-driven

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songs reflecting an explicitly anti-Western attitude, both of which suppressed the Rock sensibility of whatever youth underground had been created during the Junta censorship years, Sabotage brings with it an experience of European contemporary music, completely unknown to the majority of Greeks at the time, which Platonos has gleaned from her 1970s’ experience abroad. In retrospect, one discerns various elements of the synthesizer-laden soundscape of Krautrock rhythms, except in a thoroughly female sensibility. Even during the few times it employs classic Rock guitar-bass-drums platforms, the music disdains the requisite guitar-driven Rock chord patterns for an idiosyncratic electronic keyboard mode of composition that moves between pastoral melody and urban noise with total fluidity. Kriezi’s lyrics also differ somewhat from her usual repertoire because, even if sustaining her characteristically playful natural surrealism and carefree defiance, here they implicate the personal into the newly emerging social spectrum of techno-consumerist urban chaos. You’re not like the others/You are one of those kids/Who have inside their mind/A broken air control tower/And a radar in their heart. (“Ptisi 201” (Flight 201), Sabotage, 1981) The world is tough/On your hair/And if you can’t stand the madness/Find yourself a slogan/And take your turn in line/To enter the new order with air condition./Let’s take a ride to the supermarket/So we too can become star pigs/Who dance the polka on nylon grass/Together with the shampoo girls. (“Pame mia Volta sto Souper Market” (Let’s Take a Ride to the Supermarket), Sabotage, 1981) These lyrics are sung either with ethereal delicacy by Yannatou or outraged falsettos by Palamidas, two singers who retain the full force of their crystalline vocal range to this day. The music bears a certain contrapuntal theatricality between esoterically reflective melodies and aggressive frontal rhythms shattering the asphyxiating sociality with a satiric whirlwind. The song “Sabotage” epitomizes the second. Over an underlying rhythm of marching drums and a repeated female vocal backbeat, which Platonos based on a train’s rail rhythm and whistle pattern respectively, Palamidas towers with a fiercely operatic declamation of the incendiary lyric: The train with the dolls of guilt/And the cobwebbed fables/They call it Happy End Express for camouflage /SABOTAGE! We’ll commit SABOTAGE! . . . And if instead of the train, we get derailed/Let’s say for us it’s still too soon/Perhaps other kids will come/With eyes of laser and hair of turquoise/And we’ll commit SABOTAGE! The staccato repetition at the end of every third verse of French-derived words in Greek that rhyme, in their French accentuation, with sabotage – camouflage, emballage (wrapping), turquoise, voilage (veiling), tatouage (tattoo) – explode, by their foreignness, the conventional domain of signification in favor of the incendiary subjectivity that calls for its destruction.7 A video of the song shows Platonos and Yannatou, in extravagant furs, hats, and white-powdered faces, the two “dolls of guilt”, sitting together in a railway carriage, apathetically singing the vocal backbeat, while a menacing tuxedo-clad Palamidas enters the train screaming for sabotage against the resplendent bourgeois privilege, which will shatter the still screen image of the dolls and eventually

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bring him to his knees as well. The song is a cry of insurrection, and it is no accident that it has found its way into various contemporary renditions over recent years. Despite its unprecedented sound, Sabotage was received with great acclaim by many important figures in the Greek art world, including Hadjidakis himself, the poet Nikos Karouzos, the songwriter Arletta, and the classical pianist Dora Bakopoulou. However, it is doubtful whether the record made any inroads into the development of the Greek music scene at the time. Platonos has kept Sabotage at a distance, characterizing it somewhat disparagingly as “an illicit love affair” because she remains critical of the tendency to privilege the momentary so-called groundbreaking element over the overall trajectory of an artist’s work. When confronted with this privilege of Sabotage relative to her other work, she responds with gentle sarcasm: “[W]hen a finger is pointing at the moon, you point to the finger.”8 In these last “Greek crisis” years, Sabotage has been unearthed and performed in its entirety with great celebration. Platonos welcomed this re-emergence by pointing to the need for a little sabotage in the course of daily life.9 Nevertheless, she continues to maintain that her real break with the musical world from which she emerged was Maskes Iliou (Sun Masks, 1984), the first album to feature her own words and vocals in which she played all the instruments. Maskes Iliou appeared in the wake of two other works: Karyotakis – 13 Songs (1982), which features sparse, delicate, and somber musical renditions of the great interwar Greek poet Kostas Karyotakis, and To ’62 tou Manou Hadjidaki (Manos Hadjidakis’ ’62, 1983), produced at the composer’s bequest, which features some of his most celebrated songs from the 1950s to early 1960s dramatically stripped of their orchestrations. Both works are characterized by minimalist arrangements on piano, occasional guitar, string quartet, and electronic keyboards, and are sung chiefly by Yannatou and occasionally by Platonos. These two works of profound delicacy, melancholy, and passion were Platonos’ explicit tribute, not only to Hadjidakis, but to an entire aesthetic sensibility that had nourished her in order to then depart into her own uncharted waters.10 Maskes Iliou is clearly a point of departure, and to this day Platonos singles it out as her favorite recording: “My first mature work. It was liberating. I made no compromises and cut no corners. I brought it forth exactly as it came” (Perivolakis 2009: 29). Even Sabotage does not quite prepare the listener for the unsettling tone of this work, which unfolds as an enigmatic sonic-lyric landscape rather than as a sequence of songs, and covers the entire range of Platonos’ musical interests, including, by her own admission, the avant-garde electroacoustic music of the two most important Greek avant-garde composers of the late twentieth century: Iannis Xenakis and Jani Christou.11 Most of the words in Maskes Iliou are not sung but stated, sometimes matter-of-factly (even if what is stated as fact is positively fantastic or grotesquely unreal), at other times in a range of tones from whispers to shouts. Often the voice is technologically distorted to register the trembling of discomfort, an infantile aporia, or an inscrutable realization. Melodies are rare and, when they occur, their musical beauty breaks through the surrounding austerity of sound as if calling to a dream. The same may be said of the piano. Its sparse occurrence in the midst of the electronic soundscape becomes a gesture that calls us to attention, either as an interruption or as a point of return to what remains implicit. However we may judge the sound of Sabotage, Maskes Iliou is immersed in electronic sound, not just in tonal texture but in rhythm and even in the compositional terrain itself: “Electronic music came to me naturally, like the air I breathe” (Prova interview).12 The synthesizers are never used as piano substitutes, which is all the more reason why the rare piano moments register as instantaneous and elusive openings to another sphere. This would be as far away

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from the record of a keyboardist composer as one could imagine during this era, and closer to what now, in the digital sampler era, is understood as electronic music. The synthesizer is explored above all as texture and as percussive rhythm. Against it stands the human voice as counterpoint: fully conscious of being itself an instrument, not of the rendering of words but of sound as such. Platonos’ spectacular use of the voice as instrument, one of her celebrated trademarks, spearheads this work: as recitation or incantation, as statement or command, as lyric expression or pure melodic background. The multiple vocal line in the final section of “Mirabillia” against the staccato commands of what could be a gymnastics instructor is exemplary of this expression and utterly haunting. Platonos has stated several times that her initial lyricist partner Kriezi was instrumental in convincing her to compose music on the basis of her own words. Maskes Iliou marks the departure point of the musical poiesis that is uniquely Lena Platonos. In composition “the verses come first”, she says unequivocally, a notable statement from a composer with all the training and capacity to be a concert pianist.13 The poetry in Maskes Iliou introduces a mental landscape that persists in Platonos’ musical world throughout: human relations are fraught because of their intrinsic inadequacies but also because of the societal desert that envelops them. At the same time, only human relations enable one to engage and transform this desert into meaning. Hence, the futility of love is all at once the incessant and enflaming persistence of life, and so it deserves celebration, even if ironically. I am a magnetic tape/riveted from outlaw silence/that intercepts the polyphony of your every word/ – an object of study, after the fact./My love for you/a grave danger from a secure position/is the one moment when two trains/pass each other with ferocity/without crashing. (“Ble” (Blue), Maskes Iliou (Sun Masks), 1984) Exemplary is the song “I Lathos Agapi” (Mistaken Love), an early composition from the 1970s allegedly using a typewriter as a keyboard (Diaries), which is reiterated, as we will see, in To Spasimo ton Pagon (The Breaking of Ice, 1989), where the plural “we” of the lovers is taken through a brutal cornucopia of mockery and desperate desire for a way out. The declamatory melody of the refrain is memorable musically, but also because of the utterance: “German Romanticism”/“Spanish Retreat”/are phrases that wounded us/and were never of use. . . . “Transcendental Eroticism”/“Internal Cancellation”/are phrases that cushioned us/in the terror of rejection. (“I Lathos Agapi” (Mistaken Love), 1984) Mistaken phrases in a story of mistaken love. In the electronic prose poem “Lego” the distorted voice demands: “Tell me, in three words at most, what did you do when they treated you unjustly?” The lack of verbal response hangs heavy in its silent incapacity. One can imagine the response to have been equally incapacitating: “I did nothing.” Yet, there is a response nonetheless: the piano continues to glide uninterrupted. The piano is the voice, or perhaps the response is vocalized by the piano: “I played the piano!” Maskes Iliou concludes with “Hoping by Shopping”, Platonos’ only English-language poem which raises yet another question of how to respond to incapacity, announcing the thematics of consumerist alienation that characterize the work to follow:

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Who has tried to test his limits/Smashing a piece of plexiglass/By winkling/Instead of sitting on his ass/Hoping that things will come by shopping. (“Hoping for Shopping”, Maskes Iliou (Sun Masks), 1984) In this verse one can see the peculiar rhyming schemes characteristic of Platonos (and unrenderable in translation), which follow no consistent standards of prosody but are rather determined by an intrinsic musicality. Platonos’ poetic verses are musical phrases. Platonos continues this trajectory of musical, poetic, and socio-cultural interest in her next album Gallop (Gallup, 1985). Written as Gallop, the English-language title in Greek refers to polling or the discourse of odds, unwittingly the homophone meaning of the verb, which somehow resounds in the leaping elements of the music. Numerous critics identify this work as more extroverted, but the claim inevitably renders Maskes Iliou esoteric. There is no doubt that Gallop allows an occasional pop sensibility to enter Platonos’ electronic soundscape, which continues to remain sometimes innocent and at other times demonic, augmented here, however, by richer textures, an expanded mix range in the recording, and some spectacular precision bass work on keyboards that gives some pieces (“Mia Askisi Physikis Aliti” (A Physics Exercise Unresolved]), or “Aimatines Skies apo Apostasi” (Blood Shadows from a Distance)) the groove feel which one would eventually find in the electronic music of the past ten years. The composer repeatedly references Gallop as the outcome of an unhappy psychic space, as a sort of personal artistic release. Yet, without compromising, this work contains some of Platonos’ most memorable sonic beauty, while at the same time it gallops towards heights of alternately tragic, alternately sarcastic assessments of the surrounding social reality. Platonos claims to have simplified her poetry in order to gain a more immediate audience response, but the quotidian instances of expression do not evade the inherent surreality. The record opens with two aggressive pieces of sequential composition, both musically and poetically. “Mia Askisi Physikis Aliti” describes a social universe at the divine mercy of machines, subjugated and befuddled before the reign of unassailable objects – of want or of expectation: [U]ncomplaining tongues without taste/uniform waterproof voices . . ./skeletal feet in agonistic standing . . ./in cheap fast food restaurants on our feet/precision dentures dissect an important piece of ourselves/a physics exercise unresolved. (“Mia Askisi Physikis Aliti” (A Physics Exercise Unresolved), Gallop (Gallup, 1985)) The song segues into a similar sounding piece that mocks the secrets of the universe from the standpoint of a television-dominated society. “Ti Nea Psipsina?” – a literal translation of “What’s New Pussycat?” – reiterates a situation controlled by whatever the television news program, as latter-day oracle, envisions each morning. In between the surreal oracular pronouncements, a sinuous melodic refrain, whose high-octave ranges are best rendered by Elli Paspala in various performances at the time, declares the existential antidote to a treacherous universe: The system’s dilation and contraction/has often abandoned us/at a station with just a suitcase/but inside it exists/the red pin/that soon will burst/the plastic uniform of the universe. (“Ti Nea Psipsina?” (What’s New Pussycat?), Gallop (Gallup, 1985))

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Two songs from Gallup have emerged as signature pieces with great retrospective resonance from today’s Greek crisis standpoint. Over a straight-rhythm electronic groove, “Markos” is a prose poem about a melancholic dog with haunting eyes – “we’re talking of Markos’ eyes/even the morning when he was killed/they loved me, though still in fear” – whose innocent, loving, but hapless life is set against the cavalier and careless attitude of his masters. The song concludes with broader political implications, which Platonos has explicitly confirmed:14 His owners find it easier to cry/the same tears they sip from their cool summer drinks/they drop them in our drinks instead of ice cubes/these same tears make our summers detestable/the tears of owners who don’t know what they want/they play their role well/that’s how they confuse us, that’s how they fight us/they play their role well/ that’s how they confuse us, that’s how they govern us. (“Markos”, Gallop (Gallup, 1985)) In addition, “Emigredes tis Roumanias” (Romanian Émigrés) may be one of the most haunting tunes in the Platonos repertoire with a lilting percussive groove throughout, over which the composer tells a story of chance encounters with Romanians in her apartment building “near the American Embassy”, including the sound of their piano playing or, more importantly, their actual voices. The spectral refrain, a melody of memorable beauty over the pervasive lilting groove, yields the simplest yet most evocative personal admission: “How much I like/listening to people/going up on the elevator/speaking Romanian.” The woman’s voice in the poem abandons herself to the uncanny beauty of foreign sound. Language here is relieved of its communicability; it is sound, pure haunting sound, that singularly alters the woman’s quotidian experience: One afternoon, stooped over and anonymous/in the dark corridors of an apartment building/I heard them speak Romanian/going up on the elevator/I heard them/and then I sang/How much I like listening to people going up on the elevator/ speaking Romanian. (“Emigredes tis Roumanias” (Romanian Émigrés), Gallop (Gallup, 1985)) The spectral power of the alien sound has enormous transformative outreach – “transforming the executioners of the American Embassy again into a caress” – to conclude with a totally altered proposition of three phrases with rhyming endings: “Émigrés from Romania/Possibilities of happiness/Near the American Embassy.” The song mines the notion of how an alien sound is, literally, the source of alteration – both of yourself and of the world around you. It is a piece of strange familiarity or intimate estrangement, of uncanniness. Written a few years before 1989, the piece is riveted simultaneously by the remnants of a Cold War atmosphere near the time of its demise and the anticipation of the so-called “post-socialist” era that will create dramatically, for the first time within Greece, the conditions of coexistence with “alien” languages and cultures as a result of the massive post-1989 immigration. It is impossible to listen to this song nowadays without invoking it in the midst of Greece’s fraught relationship with an immigrant culture and not contemplating the shift from the use of “émigré” – a foreign word, as in Sabotage, that alienates the familiar signification by pervading it with its distance – to the colloquial regularity of the Greek word metanastis, which accentuates the by now all-too-familiar “immigrant” whose foreignness produces no epiphany, no transformation.

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In contrapuntal relation to these songs about a consumer-manic and a media-subjugated society exists a handful of dramatic love songs. I single out the nostalgia of “Erotes to Kalokairi” (Summer Loves), where the titular phrase acts as punctuation to images of an early twentiethcentury bourgeoisie on vacation in Normandy that could easily be taken out of Proust, and the powerful piece “Aimatines Skies apo Apostasi” (Blood Shadows from a Distance), which is driven by a spectacular funk-groove bass line on keyboard and concludes with a stunning poetic declaration of erotic complicity in rhythm and pleasure: And so I see you my friend, blood shadow of a rhythm/whether in accord or discord/whether you find yourself voiceless/playing the same chord/together with us/renown composer of a large board game/that some call history/and others call history of pleasure. (“Aimatines Skies apo Apostasi” (Blood Shadows from a Distance), Gallop (Gallup, 1985)) In 1987, some of these pieces, along with selections from the next album Lepidoptera (1986), were performed in a legendary broadcast on Greek State Television (ET2), which highlighted both their conceptual innovation and their theatrical character. The singers, all dressed in white, perform the pieces in constant motion, sometimes ghostly, at other times demonic, occasionally accompanied by extensive choreographies. With all kinds of psychedelic visual effects, in addition to the pulsating but ghostly theatricality and the uncanny electronic sound performed live, the very fact that this music, which explicitly dismantles the insidious seduction of mass media and consumerist commodification, was broadcast on national television to a mass public, making it a landmark occasion. All of what is avant-garde about Platonos is apparent on this occasion, but also apparent is how such art that defies industrialized procedures of the popular can become meaningful within an entirely popular context. Lepidoptera is considered the last in a trilogy of personal electronic records released over a three-year span (1984–1986). Although this is true, here we have a different terrain of musical poiesis, perhaps even more experimental, as certain pieces tend towards a strangely ambient theatricality, as well as a singular conceptual organization around the Latinate zoological names of butterflies from the species named in the title. No doubt Platonos uses this metaphoric platform to continue certain key poetic obsessions, including the problems of love and eroticism, or of social alienation and resistance. But this song cycle is all at once somber and delicate, with fewer forays into aggressive rhythms or vocal extravagance, even though here the composer’s command of synthesizers and the electronic textures of sound in general (including recording and mixing) are bolder and more refined. Lepidoptera remains the most enigmatic of Platonos’ works of this era and one cannot really do it justice except through a detailed analysis of every piece. Indicatively, I single out two songs: “Hesperia Iris Greca” which registers the most insightful depiction of the emerging generation of young Greek women facing the future with all the adventure, ambivalence, and danger this involves – “in front of you lies the sunrise, over your shoulders zero visibility” – and “Brenthis”, which is a profound song about the liberation of mourning (the name “Brenthis” musically invokes penthos, the Greek word for mourning): Brenthis, the black butterfly/Whoever sees her calls out her name with a child’s voice/Whoever mourns follows her/Whoever mourns follows her flight/But Brenthis knows not what mourning means/And they all dance alone together/alone together/in a color dance that always changes and never ends. (“Brenthis”, Lepidoptera, 1986)

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In retrospect, the piano introduction to the first song of Lepidoptera (“Araschnia Levana”) announces the stunning piano opening of the next Platonos musical/poetic project To Spasimo ton Pagon (The Breaking of the Ice, 1989). However, this opening piece, “Katentsa tis Anoixis” (A Spring Cadenza), is a composition that dates from Karyotakis’ song cycle era, evinced by Platonos performing it as a piano solo in her “Nea Prosopa” television appearance (1982). From the opening verse that resonates profoundly nowadays – “Spring is not a season for austerity” – Platonos escalates her musico-poetic concerns by returning to a primarily acoustic arrangement based on piano and violin, with melodies and vocal arrangements that echo much of her original classical training, even if they are filtered through her sui generis avant-garde sensibility. The record was produced for Sirius, the experimental label of Manos Hadjidakis, and is dedicated to the composer, which makes it even more a gesture of return – not a retreat to older modalities, but a return home with the panoply of musical and poetic achievement of nearly a decade. To Spasimo ton Pagon also marks the return of singer Yannis Palamidas, who gives a remarkable operatic performance, as well as the reiteration of a signature tune from Maskes Iliou, “I Lathos Agapi” (Mistaken Love), reworked acoustically on the piano (with an extraordinary electric guitar solo in the background) and sung by a man in a way that cannot fail, in its declarative refrain, to conjure up the shadowy political atmosphere of the time. This music is recorded in the midst of what has been coded in Greek politics as “dirty ’89”, referring to the year of the collapse of the PASOK government under extensive charges of corruption by virtue of the bizarre alliance between the right-wing liberal New Democracy Party and the Communist Party. It is as though the society that Platonos has been stigmatizing to no one’s acknowledgment has finally manifested its full decomposition, and she is here to sing the tunes of its demise. As usual, Platonos’ sound is contrary to reality, for this is arguably the most delicate of all her albums of the decade, much as this delicacy resonates sharply with these contextual allusions. Poetically, this is a sumptuous work about love: about the glory, passion, and pain of falling and being in love, about the erotic passage of life in and out of the straits of the everyday, which is both thrilling and an existential trial. But Eros not only wrestles with the social; it encounters the physics of the universe itself. Always an erotic poet, Platonos here achieves extraordinary heights of lyricism, sonically ingenious, with innovative rhymes of words at once abstract and trivial, passionate and quotidian. As ethereal as it may be, this lyricism never loses touch with the tangible, the sensuous. Sometimes, the sensuous is musicality itself. The eroticism of spring celebrates itself with a cadenza that is simultaneously an ode to Athens (“The Black Beauty”), to what it means to love and “to dream/in a city like this/where change is so difficult” (“Katentsa tis Anoixis”). For the lover who wanders, love permeates being in the sound-drops of a vibraphone: “But in my mind/swirls the vibraphone/My dense, unfathomable, enchanting present” (“To Vibraphon” (The Vibraphone)). In “Trischaritomenoi Kipoi” (The Graceful Gardens) the refrain breaks into a sumptuous centrifugal waltz, which takes off into the orbit of intoxicated promise as the lovers bid each other adieu: And we’ll meet again in the realm of madness/newborns of thunders/in love with that one path/where splitting the atom is forbidden. (“Trischaritomenoi Kipoi” (The Graceful Gardens), To Spasimo ton Pagon (The Breaking of Ice, 1989)) But the final phrase is a pun, insofar as atomo in Greek means also “individual person”; therefore, the phrase can be translated just as well as: “in love with that one path/where fragmenting a

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person is forbidden” – the quintessential path of entwined lovers. But perhaps the culmination of Platonos’ stark lyricism is the short piece for electronic keyboards and voice, “Pote de se Eida” (I Never Saw You), which deserves to be rendered in full: Every night you leave at ten and behind you leave a hole and lights off. I open the old newspaper seeking a possible movie though tomorrow morning you will ring my phone again and I will fall and slip on your glass voice . . . Every night you leave at ten and leave me vulnerable on the wayside with a devil’s cry. In my chest enclosed is an hourglass dripping my tears in silence. I didn’t know you I never saw you. Again, several puns (in addition to the idiosyncratic rhyme) make translation inadequate. Platonos’ language opens up meaning in the cleavage inherent in words. As a metaphor, the literal “I will fall” (tha tin patiso) is heard as “fall in love” or “fall for a trick”, while the qualifier “never” in the final verse works bi-directionally: “I never saw you” is just as much as and simultaneously “I never knew you”, all haunted by the double meaning of the first verb, which means “to know” but also “to recognize”. I would speak easily of an erotic physics – both the materiality and the ethereality of the universe are traceable in the pervasive reign of Eros. Even in the wonderfully hysteric theatricality of “To Synedrio Voodoo” (The Voodoo Conference), whose political sarcasm is immediately resonant of 1989, the rhythm of Platonos’ erotic physics holds sway. The album ends with an explicit prayer to the lover, a chant of extraordinary passion where synthesizers meet Byzantine modal vocals, which reaches Eros out into the furthest orbits of the physical universe in order to conclude with the impossible declaration: “I never loved/and never will I be loved/more.” The song’s metaphysical agony is somatic. In the gesture of praying to her ultimate being, she achieves a musical confession of ecstatic love. The Archimedean title of the record that completes this explosive decade, Mi mou tous Kyklous Tarate (Do Not Disturb My Circles, 1990), stands witness to what is Platonos’ culminating interest in the world of physics, as the prism through which to stage the tyranny of consumerist society with its technology fetish and its dire but tragic opponent: its undoing by Eros, rendered alternately between a contemporary female sensibility and an archaic pre-Socratic cosmic power. A simultaneous foray into biblical language, with the musical demand for incantation, is also prevalent here, without, however, diminishing the faultless sarcasm towards contemporary fetishes or the celebration of the archaic, elemental, and sensuous anthropology of the cosmos. Platonos has the dubious honor of being the last Greek artist to suffer the scissors of censorship, as her irreverent take on “The Apostles’ Creed,” which becomes a paean to the almighty technological divinity of computerized power, is deemed blasphemous by the state. The vocal

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part that renders the Creed in the song “Yperagora I” (Supermarket I) is removed from the recording, which is allowed to stand musically bare, revealing, one should say, a spectacular jazz piano improvisation unadulterated at the forefront. The song itself marks the culmination of Platonos’ persistent wrestling with the contentious intersection of erotic physis with consumer culture. Sung brilliantly by Katerina Kouka before she became a goddess of laiko hits, with the extraordinary vocal panache of her personality, the song features a musical and lyrical insurrection: The last generations of cash register girls hit the keys of accounting machines mechanically who knows where their thoughts are flying off what seismic landscapes, what rose–ashen utopia with a vacant stare, from their mouth they release voiceless paper cries of accounting money flows, oh how it flows and whatever flows like nothing slips through their hands hands neutralized, workers’ hands. They fill bags with various products of product the last generations of girls psychic extensions of cash registers forerunners of code mechanisms. (“Yperagora I” (Supermarket I), Mi mou tous Kyklous Tarate (Do Not Disturb My Circles, 1990)) A dramatic clash between things ending (“the last generations of girls”) and things to come (“forerunners”) colors this piece with a dark shadow, the imagined ashen utopia of vacant flights of thought pummeled by the brutal mechanical repetition of industrial reality. But Platonos, who pulls no punches on depicting the brutality of capitalist life, will always counteract with elemental Eros. Thus, the contrapuntal pair to “Yperagora I & II” (musically staging an encounter between a deconstructed Eislerian tango and a synthetic waltz) is “Ourania I & II”, an elegy to the young Greek woman whose erotic-poetic sensibility carries the antidote, resisting objectification and carving out an opening in cosmic space: in “the last waltz of Romanticism . . ./the Muse is called Ourania/poetess of an enormous space station” (“Ourania I”); this is reiterated in Kouka’s vocal magnificence as “Muse of Astronomy . . ./loving apostrophes/and parties/supporting internationalism/and there in-between/brief practical words/and human names” (“Ourania II”). Ourania inhabits the body of the cash register girls but also transcends it as cosmic radiation, the very materiality of physis. Nowhere else in Platonos’ consistent vocabulary does the resolutely female power of poiesis matches so succinctly the pervasive power of physical cosmic matter so as to withstand (and perhaps overcome) the onslaught of the ruthless, materialistic world. It is simultaneously a war between the psychical and the material, the cosmological and the technological, the universal and, of course, the feminine particular – all of these pairs, however, not breaking up into polar opposites but entwined in ineradicable tension and complicity.

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This tension is elusive, as is stated precisely in the most often mentioned song of this cycle “The Elusive Laser”, which is actually the real name of a man, the lover who characteristically slips away from the corporeal reality of Eros, an instantaneous hologram of existence, not that different from the commodified presence of supermarket life. What is at stake is a matter of impression, as the poet repeats over and over – “stay marked by the impression” – a word that carries its literal weight to the fullest: not just a fleeting image but a print mark, an inscription that stays, that leaves its trace on the body no matter how elusive, virtual, and holographic it desires to be. Nothing is more elusive than love between real people, but nothing can elude the erotic reality of people. Such is, time and again, the poetic realization of Platonos’ music and words. Mi mou tous Kyklous Tarate was the most neglected of Platonos’ projects of this period, but it is the most succinct expression of her overall sensibility and intervention – a culmination of an explosive trajectory in less than a decade. Retrospectively, in that short time, Lena Platonos infused the musical and poetic space of a country in the throes of populist ecstasy, self-obsessed with its own self-aggrandizement through extravagant materialism, with all the heuristic modes and possibilities of what I call “transgressive listening” – a musical act where all inherited modes of aesthetic culture and politics of life are redundant. Notes 1

2

3

4 5

For reasons of space, but also because I want to elucidate the significance of this particular social-historical juncture, I will focus on this period, and even here only on those works that feature Platonos as composer-poet-singer (except for Sabotage, for reasons explained in the text). In other words, I will not examine the important work of setting to music the poetry of Kostas Karyotakis (1982) or, more recently, of C.P. Cavafy (2013), nor Platonos’ exquisite electric keyboard renditions of the early songs by Manos Hadjidakis (1983). In addition, while recorded during this period, I will not examine the two records of children’s songs – I Icho kai ta Lathis tis (Echo and Its Mistakes,1985) and To Aidoni tou Aftokratora (The Emperor’s Nightingale, 1989) – since the words are not the composer’s, even though the music certainly matches the genius of the other works of the period. All translations from the Greek are mine, unless otherwise noted. Platonos’ poetry set to music between 1984 and 1997 may be found in the collection Ta Logia mou (2005), which I have consulted, though it has a few errors and omissions. Platonos’ discography is available at www.discogs.com/artist/642532-%CE%9B%CE%AD%CE%BD%CE%B1%CE%A0%CE%BB%CE%AC%CF%84%CF%89%CE%BD%CE%BF%CF%82 (accessed March 27, 2017). Entechno may be literally translated as “skilled song” – a kind of overstatement meant to offset the presumption that much of popular art and song (where laiko would be the referent) was essentially the outcome of autodidactic performance, “unskilled” in the formal arts of musical composition and execution and even “naïve” as to its sense of self. Surely this presumption is unfounded, not to say simply constructed via a huge range of assumptions that emerged in mid-nineteenth-century Europe and produced alongside the construction of modernity, as to what is learned and what is vernacular, what is written and what is oral, what is individually composed and what is a reiteration of anonymous tradition, what is formally artistic and what is amateur and bohemian. I am obviously disputing the distinction, but it is worth noting that entechno in today’s Greek musical landscape is meant to confer a certain artistic (and sometimes overtly anti-commercial) value within the domain of popular song, in order to accentuate the lament that true laiko has died and what now passes for it is low-grade commercial fare produced in the corporate sphere. Pioneering synth-pop group In Trance 95 or post-punk Film Noir and darkwave legend Rehearsed Dreams are some of the key mid-1980s co-travelers on the underground scene, all of them (interestingly) working with English lyrics. Some of the most important figures of later electronic music to emerge from this scene, notably Coti K and Ion, along with members of the most successful such group Stereo Nova, acknowledge Platonos’ influence in the tributary collaboration Lena Platonos’ Mixer (1995) – there is a pun here because the English word “mixer” in Greek is used to signify “blender” – a collection of Platonos’ remixes that showed in what sense her music remained both original and utterly contemporary. Performance in the series Nea Prosopa on Greek State Television, first broadcast on August 21, 1982. Henceforth cited in the text. This was in 1971. She goes on to add that in Vienna she also witnessed performances by Pablo Casals, Maurizio Pollini, and others, of course, but it was the experience of seeing a Rock band performance that instilled in her the notion that being a composer-performer was more suited to her sensibility than a concert pianist. Quoted from a television interview with Lena Aroni in the series Imerologia, Greek State Television, March 2010. Henceforth cited in the text.

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Platonos interviewed by Perivolakis (Perivolakis 2009). Here, Adorno comes to mind: Foreign words become the bearers of subjective content: nuances. The meanings in one’s own language may correspond to the meanings of the foreign words in every case, but they cannot be arbitrarily replaced by them because the expression of subjectivity cannot be simply dissolved in meaning. . . . The more alienated human beings have become from their things in society, the more strange [foreign] are the words that will have to represent them if they are to reach them. (Adorno 1992: 287)

8

9 10

11

Platonos in the television show Prova, hosted by Lilanda Lykiardopoulou, Greek State Television, 1986. What was memorable in this show was her performance of a very popular bouzouki tune from the junta years, Oneiro Apatilo (“Deceptive Dream”), whose piano-based arrangement and execution, in characteristic Platonos style, both transforms it and showcases its inspired composition. See Skintsas, Yiorgos. 2009. “Hreiazetai to Sabotage I Zoi mas” To Vima, October 18. Available at www.tovima.gr/culture/article/?aid=294614 (accessed March 27, 2017). As attested from three scores for voice and piano (“Evening”, “Spring”, and “Only”), included in her father’s own archive (http://www.mmb.org.gr/page/default.asp?id=3625), Platonos may have already written some of the Karyotakis material in the 1970s while still in the classical genre. At the same time there is one occasion on the record (the poem “I Pedias kai to Nekrotafeion”) where she employs a bass-drums-guitar-keyboards arrangement and declaims the words in a way that preordains the fascinating work to come. The Greek State Radio archives contain manuscripts of Platonos’ musical settings to poems by Andreas Embeirikos (scored for piano, cello, and soprano) and Nikos Kavvadias (scored for piano and voice), all dated from 1979; none were recorded, although I have not established whether they were ever performed. Referring to Christou, whose spectacular, talented life was cut short at the age of 44, Platonos quips: “He whirls me around, turns me over . . . Christou does whatever he wants with me. He knows how to mix himself up with a person’s psyche” (Perivolakis 2009: 29).

12 I feel natural instruments to be something like my various nostalgias. Electric or electronic instruments are perhaps more like my expectations. The atmosphere or orchestration is already fully formed in my mind at the time of composition, and only if the song is to be performed or recorded I actually write it out in manuscript. (Interview in Nea Prosopa, Greek State Television; see note 4 above). 13 14

Interviewed in Imerologia, Greek State Television; see note 5 above. “In this song I emphasize that the ambivalence of owners, or those who govern us metaphorically speaking, produces weakness and paralysis on those subjected to them. And this is how they are then attacked. [Ambivalence] is a weapon.” Interview with Vyron Kritzas, May 4, 2009. Available at http://vyronas.blogspot.com/2009/05/blogpost.html (accessed March 27, 2017).

Bibliography Adorno, Theodor. 1992. “On the Use of Foreign Words.” In Notes to Literature Vol. II. New York: Columbia University Press, pp. 287–289. Perivolakis, Antonis. 2009. “Lena Platonos.” Metronomos 33: 26–30. Platonos, Lena. 2005. Ta Logia Mou. Athens: Odos Panos.

8 Digital Music Creativity Chipmusic in/from Greece Marilou Polymeropoulou

In October 2008, Error Code, an event featuring staged “chipmusic” performances, took place at a bar in central Athens. The line-up consisted of three performers: Tonylight from Milan (Italy), Bubblyfish, an artist of Korean origin who lives in New York (USA), and Sally Zero from Larissa (Greece). After the performance, I approached the artists and the organizer who were mingling with the audience. They spoke to me about the chipscene as a global phenomenon, stressing that it was not just about making music or finding ways of extending one’s creativity; rather, they implied that there was much more behind what an uninformed audience would simply classify as videogame music. Ilias Sifakis, the curator of Error Code, suggested that chipmusic was an undercurrent electronic music genre in Greece and that the chipscene was not as active in this locality as it was in other countries. While I conducted ethnographic fieldwork in the chipscene, I thought that there was not a case for Greek chipmusic. It was not until a later stage in fieldwork I realized that, in fact, the Greek chipscene was impactful, but this was not necessarily evident in Greece, and, in addition, distinguishing chiptunes made in Greece or by Greeks was challenging. This chapter communicates knowledge on chipmusic, this particular kind of electronic music, in and from Greece. Epistemologically, the chapter is inclined towards ethnomusicological and popular music approaches, focusing on chipmusicians’ narratives and discourse to yield meaning in this highly nuanced culture. I examine the transnational flows of Greek-related chipmusic in the chipscene network in two ways. First, I primarily address staged chipmusic performances in urban centers in Greece, as experienced during fieldwork and as illustrated by my informants in Greece. Second, I focus on chipmusic composed by Greek chipmusicians who reside in and out of Greece, and moreover, Greek chipmusic released by netlabels, the non-commercial organizations in the digital market that circulate and promote music. The findings of this chapter are based on digital and physical, multi-sited ethnographic fieldwork that I conducted on the chipscene in two periods (2008 and 2011–2013), employing a mixed-methods approach for the collection and analysis of data. The primary theoretical and conceptual axis of this article revolves around the theme of “networked creativity”. For this, I am employing an interdisciplinary theoretical and methodological framework using anthropological, ethnomusicological, and sociological theories, most notably Born’s “relayed creativity” (2005) informed by Castells’ “network society” (1996), Becker’s “art worlds” (1982), and subsequently, Crossley’s “music worlds” (2015). I argue that creativity in contemporary digital music worlds can be networked, meaning that it can be dispersed across various activities that are labeled as creative: music-making, technology-hacking practices that underpin the music, digital cultural practices such as the use of social media,

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online releases, crowd-sourcing, staged and screened performances, and any other activity related to music. Thus, chipmusic creativity is construed in the networked context and this chapter examines creative aspects that are mediated in hacking, performing, music-making, and communication practices as manifested in digital and physical places. Chipmusic as digital culture resonates with Krapp’s perspective that “digital culture taps reservoirs of creative expression under the conditions of networked computing”, particularly through “the limitations and closures of computing culture” (Krapp 2011: ix–x). This is manifested in the practices of chipmusicians, who initially composed music on technologically limited platforms (e.g. 1980s home computers and videogame platforms) and circulated their chiptunes in relevant online communities. Chipmusicians are interested in the challenges that technological constraints offer, as well as the creative ways in which they can overcome them.1 Furthermore, the chipscene is primarily a self-sustained prosumer culture (Carlsson 2008b; Ritzer and Jurgenson 2010), where the roles of the audience and the creator often coincide. Musical practices in the chipscene have changed over the past 15 years. First, the emergence of chiptune-making cartridges for the Nintendo Game Boy in the late 1990s enhanced mobility and simplicity with regard to the manufacturing process. Up until then, chipmusic-making was a domestic activity, due primarily to the weight of the used platforms. This was a turning point for the popularization of chipmusic that occurred after 2000 as chipmusic-making became easier and more available, considering that one could buy a Game Boy online or in thrift shops, car boot sales, or retro gaming arenas, and similarly either buy a chipmusic-making cartridge, or create one. Second, the development of emulators for modern computers allowed anyone with a personal computer to reproduce the characteristic “bleepy” chiptune sound. One of the primary characteristics of chipmusic creativity is that it is a networked and predominantly collective form of creativity. A composed chiptune can be a distributed object which can be further altered by other agents, in different temporalities and spatialities. The collective action to produce a chiptune is not reducible to individual creativity, as it presupposes interaction, stimulation, and influence that come from various social agents. This is a form of collective creativity which resonates with Durkheim’s (1974) concept “collective effervescence”. What is particularly interesting in the Greek case, however, is the lack of collectiveness and community spirit in sacred gatherings (digital or physical) as well as the implications of social solidarity, given the tensions between Greek chipmusicians due to different criteria in value judgments. As will be later explained in the chapter, the community spirit of the predecessor of the chipscene, the demoscene, was vibrant in its time. Although the Greek chipscene adhered to chipmusic tropes that were universal, including the totemism of chipmusic-making consoles, it appeared that the community spirit had faded, as had collaborative creativity to some extent. Nevertheless, I argue that in the Greek case, collective effervescence is mediated differently when it comes to its emotional aspect, which is only effectively communicated in small, segregated groups of chipmusicians. A significant factor of this is the uninformed audience that attends the events and the lack of an organized local chipscene network. In recent years, chipmusic has gathered a momentum as a research area. The earliest sources on chiptunes are found in the literature on the demoscene, the precursor of the chipscene (Tasajärvi et al. 2004; Polgár 2005; Reunanen and Silvast 2009; Reunanen 2010; Botz 2011). Scholars have looked at various challenging topics related to chipmusic: hacker culture (Ramocki 2008), technological aspects (Dittbrenner 2007; Phelps 2009; Kotlinski 2009; Tomczak 2011), debates on musical authenticity and originality (Tomczak 2008; Polymeropoulou 2014a), copyright and plagiarism in online places (Zeilinger 2012, 2014; Carlsson 2008b), performance

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(Pasdzierny 2012; d’Errico 2012), social organization and history (Yabsley 2007; Driscoll and Diaz 2009; Nova 2014), as well as chipmusic practices and mobility (Carlsson 2008a, 2010a, 2010b; Tonelli 2014). This chapter is the first publication that extends these discussions in relation to chipmusic made in Greece or by Greeks. Demos and Chipmusic: An Inextricable Relationship? Chipmusic, also known as chiptunes, micromusic, and 8-bit music, is electronic music characteristic of the sounds of early home computers (microcomputers) and videogame consoles. It is predominantly associated with the sound chips of 1980s 8-bit platforms, such as the Commodore 64, the Atari ST, and the Nintendo Game Boy. Early chiptunes were rather different from contemporary compositions. In the 1980s, when 8-bit technology was new, groups of hobbyist programmers used microcomputers to create, by means of coding, short audiovisual presentations (i.e. chiptunes and visuals) called demonstrations or, simply, demos. These aimed to showcase the capacities of the computer and the skills of the coder.2 Demosceners attempted to succeed in this task by pushing and manipulating the technological limitations of their microcomputers. The demoscene promoted do-it-yourself ideology and the craft of demosceners was evaluated according to the premise of algorithmic elegance (Carlsson 2010a: 10; Menotti Gonring 2009: 111), i.e. how complex, yet efficient, the code of the demo was. Code was the key to unlocking the technological limitations of the computer, and therein lay the beauty of code. In that preWeb 2.0 era, a good demo had to be a few kilobytes to be circulated in limited-capacity floppy disks or distributed in Bulletin Board Systems (BBS), the predecessor of online communities.3 The demoscene existed primarily in Europe as a hobbyist computer subculture. As one of my American informants highlighted, “[about Europe] as far as we know here, supposedly the demoscene has gotten a lot of praise as being an originator of this concept, but in reality, we are pretty disconnected from them”.4 Quad, from the Japanese sound studio luvtrax, explained that “Japan doesn’t have much interest in demoscenes like Mega Demos. I think the origin of chiptune culture emerged from that environment. In Japan, hardly anyone knows about Amiga Mega Demos. It has always been a cultural import.”5 My informants in Europe highlighted the significance of the demoscene for their practices, although this was not strongly communicated by informants in other continents. In the early 1990s, various Greek demogroups appeared (e.g. dEUS, Andromeda Software Development, DebriS) and the first demoparties followed in the mid-1990s. In the history of the Greek demoscene, Patras, a city situated on the northwest side of the Peloponnese, became a key hub of significant demoscene activity, demonstrating the collective effervescence of the scene. Several demogroups were formed in that city where there was a lively college life scene, and local demosceners organized annual meetings at the University of Patras. One of my informants in Patras was a music coder for a local demogroup. He reminisced about the times when they carried their heavy computers into someone’s house, where they would set up and work for days on a demo. As he described it, demosceners connected to Bulletin Board Systems via modems and communicated with other demosceners at local, national, or international level. aMUSiC, a local demoscener and member of the Andromeda Software Development (ASD), wrote a post at ADSLGR Forum regarding the habitus of demoparties in Patras that included activities ranging from best demo competitions to bizarre contests such as floppy disk throwing, and demonstrating innovative ways of eating Merenda, a Greek chocolate hazelnut spread.6 The first Greek demoparty named “The Gardening”, a name with a touch of self-mockery as it was inspired by “The

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Gardening”, one of the largest European demoparties organised in Norway since 1991. The Gardening took place in Patras in 1995 and continued for three consecutive years. As aMUSiC clarified in the same post, the Greek demoscene hibernated for a few years and resumed their activities in the early 2000s, employing both modern and obsolete computers in their practices. Greek demos excelled in well-known international demoparties, such as the Assembly in Finland, where, for example, ASD won first prize with their demo “Iconoclast” (2005). Initially, chiptunes were an inextricable part of demos or other multimedia, such as keygens, which were programs that removed the license of commercial software, allowing for it to be used illegally. Demosceners coded music but also developed and used trackers, a computer environment similar to the functionality of digital audio workstations that simplified music composition. During the 1990s, chipmusic gradually became independent from the demoscene. Moreover, certain demosceners focused their creative practices on music-making and developed the chipscene. In the early days of the chipscene, chipmusic was free to download via netlabels.7 As Merz (2011) underlines, “free” in the context of netlabels means that the musical work is available without payment, but there are still restrictions and limitations. The selection of artists on netlabels was done by a curatorial group whose actions were similar to A&R departments of record labels (ibid.). There were and still are various chipmusic netlabels but the principal way of exchanging chiptunes was in online chipmusic communities. Clarifying Chipmusic Practices and Chipscene Discourse The chipscene began organizing in the late 1990s when the first online chipmusic communities emerged. Micromusic.net, a netlabel and online community whose creators were based in Switzerland, included registered members from various countries in Europe and beyond. At the time, tracking chiptunes (i.e. using trackers) was the fundamental method of chipmusicmaking. Towards the end of the 1990s, chipmusic was popularized as a result of two events: (1) the release of chipmusic-making software such as Nanoloop (1998) and Little Sound DJ (2000) for the handheld gaming console Nintendo Game Boy, and (2) the launch of 8bitcollective.org, the online chipmusic community which became the largest in history. Although Micromusic was highly regarded by several chipmusicians, some believed that the netlabel’s Quality Filter System (QFS) restricted their creative aspirations. QFS was not a computerized, web-integrated system of analysis. As Carlsson has explained, Micromusic primarily featured user-generated content, but the selection of uploaded chiptunes was made by an “anonymous jury at the site, therefore maintaining a certain stylistic coherence” (Carlsson 2010a: 10); in other words, the curatorial group of a netlabel. Two of the criteria of “quality filtering” were disclosed in a section of the website entitled “micromusic concept”: “. . . and we always keep focused on one thing: the highly addictiv [sic] computer game soundz [sic]”, and also, “fuck ProTools! start tracking!” For a chiptune to be released by Micromusic, it should make sonic references to computer games and their music; however, there were no guidelines on how this could be achieved. In addition, it should be a tracked composition rather than a musical piece composed on ProTools or any other commercial digital audio workstation. The concept of evaluation in the chipmusic canon was inherited by the demoscene, and hence the first era of chipmusic was characteristic of complexity in terms of tracked code, echoing the aesthetics of chiptunes from demos. In 2004 8bitcollective.org (8bc) was launched. This new online chipmusic community became a liberating experience for chipmusicians who opposed Micromusic’s ideology regarding the system of evaluation, QFS. The 8bitcollective was believed to be more democratic because it

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allowed any member to upload their audio, video, and images (Yabsley 2007: 7) thus valuing individual choice. Unlike Micromusic, criticism was offered voluntarily by other members of the community in the form of comments beneath the uploaded item. This process of commenting on others’ work was in effect a feedback loop similar to the ones experienced in education. It was then that the importance and hence the power of the audience became prominent on the chipscene. In his work on Rock ideology, Frith highlighted the significance of the audience and fans as being meaning-makers in popular music (Frith 1983: 165). In the chipscene, there is an overlap between fan base and musicians primarily because the main consumers and critics of chipmusic are other chipmusicians or chip-related social agents. The power of the audience was notably demonstrated when 8bitcollective members publicly disagreed with the 8bitcollective’s founder initiative to place advertisements on the website to generate funds that would be used to support the cost of servers. Few moderators or 8bitbollective members favored the introduction of advertisements, as it ran counter to the anti-consumerist concept that the majority of members embraced as an ideology bequeathed from the do-ityourself years at Micromusic. Disapproval was expressed through a series of message threads causing online conflict, also known in the chipscene as “drama”.8 Inevitably, the 8bitcollective went offline, as the founder could not sustain it financially.9 What is particularly interesting here is that 8bitcollective members disregarded the fact that the founder was also the legal owner of the community. Carlsson (2010b), in his post in Chipflip Blog, suggested that “8bc cannot only be described as founder+server+domain+brand. 8bc wouldn’t be much without songs, messages, memes, pictures and software that was made by others.” The audience assumed that the meaning of this online community was attributed to people who participated in it, rather than its actual owner and founder. Following the demise of 8bitcollective, three other chipmusic communities appeared, becoming a space for the exploration of ideas and sharing of information. The popularization of chipmusic resulted in changes related to practices and, hence, to ideology with regard to chipmusic-making. This signaled the decline of a purist ideology, an ideology shared primarily by the first generation of chipmusicians who were mostly demosceners. The second generation that followed aimed at expanding musical aesthetics in chiptunes, and the third at introducing new sounding elements and co-opting chipmusic in other popular music genres. Nevertheless, technological ideology, and not age, is the key element in the differences among the three generations. A chipmusician can adhere to any of these three ideologies regardless of her or his age, yet based on her or his music-making preferences, values, and beliefs. By the end of the first decade of the millennium, composing chipmusic had significantly changed. Software plug-ins that emulated retro sound chips found in relevant platforms enabled anyone with a modern computer to compose music that sounds like chiptunes. This chipmusic subgenre, called “fakebit”, reflected the importance of real, authentic sounds in contrast to unoriginal, fake chiptunes. The second and third generation of chipmusicians embraced fakebit, ignoring any derogatory connotations associated with the term, and reinstated its status on the chipscene as an acceptable practice. Chipmusic and G(r)eeks in Action Ilias, a self-proclaimed retro videogame collector and chipmusician, launched Error Code in 2007 in Athens. Error Code had two purposes: first, as an exhibition and play area featuring retro hardware, where “retro” suggests obsolete computers and videogame consoles. Error Code was hosted in diverse spaces in Athens, from galleries to clubs. In every setting, all hardware was set up for the audience to use. In that sense, Error Code represented a 1980s computer

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experience. Second, Ilias’ aim was to establish the Greek chipscene by curating staged chipmusic performances at this event. At a later stage in my fieldwork I asked him about his ideology on chipmusic-making and the impact of fakebit. As he put it, [g]lobal chip/8-bit scene is disoriented today. Of course, this is normal and expected since the scene grew in popularity. However, calling 8-bit or chipmusic any commercial crap that sounds retro or vaguely reminds you of the ’80s or even videogames, is silly and almost repulsive. . . . You can’t have chipmusic without the hardware. It’s like playing Greek folk music without bouzouki.10 His narrative echoed first-generation technological ideology and, thus, the significance of chipmusic material culture for musical meaning. Here, I return to the ritual process of Error Code that I attended in 2008 in order to explain Greek audience ideology. The event occurred in K44, a relatively new bar in the Gazi area that, according to its marketing campaign, aimed to promote underground and alternative music in Athens. Understanding “underground” and “alternative” as musical concepts or categories in Greece is challenging, as they are two problematic terms which can be culturally interpreted. My informants used both terms interchangeably to describe any kind of music that was different to the dominant, mainstream kind of popular music called skyladika (dog songs) performed at nightclubs, which are also known as bouzoukia, named after the basic musical instrument used for skyladika, bouzouki, a stringed instrument. Many informants expressed their dislike of skyladika, considering this type of music as well as the lifestyle of its audience to be “of low quality”. In contemporary Greek cultural history, skyladika have been linked to the Greek Junta (1967–1974) and have been considered as an expression of its aesthetic (Economou 2005: 390). The self-proclaimed underground music scene supporting a Left, working-class ideology struggled against the hegemony of anything related to the mainstream: politics, music, class, and values. In the underground setting of Error Code, mainstream elements were prominent from the perspective of the audience. Some people carefully observed chipmusicians’ moves and clicks on their Game Boy consoles; others danced to the beats of 8-bit pop song covers such as the Eurythmics’ “Sweet Dreams (are made of these)”; some stood at a distance, chatting while rhythmically nodding to 8-bit sounds; while others glanced at the Amiga-produced visuals projected behind the performers. Reflecting back on this moment, the Greek audience looked nothing like the chipmusic fan base that I experienced online or in other places in the chipscene – the prosumers. In this instance the audience seemed unaware of chipmusic culture, and, by extension, the chipmusic event did not constitute a sacred gathering where collective effervescence was demonstrated. Clearly, the fans were the meaning-makers, to use Frith’s (1983) term, and the meaning was that of an underground music event. The question is, then: Who fires up chipmusic in or from Greece? The answer comes as no surprise: chipmusicians themselves support and expand the Greek chipscene, a social pattern that is often observed in the chipscene. Finding Greek activity in online chipmusic communities can be challenging if there is no information regarding the location of registered members. Micromusic has a section entitled Micromaps, which features an interactive geographical world map depicting registered members’ location. On Micromusic, there are eight registered members in Greece, and more specifically in Athens (seven members) and Thessaloniki (one member). Following further inquiries I found that two of them no longer reside in Greece, but in Canada and Japan, respectively; there was no further information about the chipmusician from Thessaloniki. On 8bitcollective I found seven members, two of whom were also registered on Micromusic. There was no straightforward

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Greek-related activity on Noisechannel.org and Collective.org. Finally, some online presence was observed on chipmusic.org, which is currently one of the most prominent online chipmusic communities. There are few posts about Error Code and Greek chiptune releases primarily by member Mano, who is none other than Sally Zero himself, as well as certain posts by chipmusicians who plan to travel to Greece and search for local contacts. One of the Athenian chipmusicians who was active in Micromusic and 8bit collective, Niadoka, spoke to me and narrated how he used to compose chiptunes with Ilias, but “unfortunately, chipmusic is off topic nowadays”.11 At an interview in Ough netmag in June 2013, he talked about his background and his first encounters with chipmusic through his “geeky brother”, who was into computers and music tracking. Niadoka explained that he was self-taught in music, spending hours tracking and “expressing the music in his head”. While he was in the army, he spent long hours composing chiptunes on a Game Boy using LSDJ. In 2013 he self-released an album entitled Ochtabita (Eightbits) featuring three chiptunes composed entirely on Game Boy using a LSDJ cartridge. His chipmusic echoes electro-pop aesthetics and, in particular, the repetition of melodic patterns in four cycles and bass octaves combined with funky elements that are demonstrated in rhythm structures. Ochtabita are also intertwined with chiptune characteristics such as arpeggios and pitch-bend vibratos. He also composes electro-pop reminiscent of 1980s musical aesthetics such as the use of keytar solos. What is striking is that some parts of his non-chiptunes echo chipmusic aesthetics, such as the use of arpeggios and pitch-bend melodies found in “In this Night”. In addition, Niadoka is a music producer collaborating with electro and popular music artists from Greece in remixing their songs. One of his most recent remixes is “Sentiment”, a song by Yinka, a Greek MC of Nigerian origin, and Videogame Orchestra, an Athenian chiptune duo. Niadoka’s release as of April 2018 cannot be found online – every digital trace of its existence has been erased. This is an interesting change to be followed up. Videogame Orchestra (VGO) is the most active Greek chipmusic band in Greece and abroad. In 2004 they created bleep pop, a branch of electro-pop music in chiptunes, and have participated in more than 15 music compilation albums, some of which are tributes to videogames or popular music artists, and others are electronic music compilations. In addition, they have released four albums in diverse English chipmusic netlabels; for example, Kitten Rock and Pterodactyl Squad. VGO have experimented with chipmusic and fakebit using trackers, sound chip emulators on modern computers, and hardware electronics. At an interview for Soundmaker in April 2010, VGO explained their nostalgia for the time when they used to play videogames; they identify as nerds who wish to revive this nostalgic atmosphere through their own aesthetic approach, and, as they finally acclaimed, “the future [in the dance scene] belongs to chiptunes!” VGO also performed at Synch, an electronic music festival in Athens, but also in other events around Europe.12 At the time of conducting fieldwork, there were traces of Greek chipmusician activity in online communities and social media. An interesting example was Octabitron, yet another chipmusician from Athens whose three albums are rather dark, playing with industrial, glitch, noise, and the darker side of electronic music. Octabitron’s videos represent 8-bit aesthetics, featuring pixelated gameplay of videogames. This, perhaps, is a way in which chipmusic progresses in time – by being appropriated in a generic nostalgia-videogame-electronic music framework. Since 2017, for example, VGO have attempted to re-spark the Greek chipscene by organising staged music events marketed to the audience of electronic music. Such events include reminiscing symbols of 8-bit aesthetics and retro-videogame culture, as for example, visuals influenced by Space Invaders.

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When I attended Error Code I did not have the opportunity to speak to Sally Zero after his performance. From what I was told by Ilias, Sally Zero was, at the time, a 17-year-old high school student from Larissa, and I assumed he must have left soon after the event. A few years later I contacted him online and was able to trace his activities. He told me his chiptune story, where he explored music-making as a high school student with alternative musical instruments. Two years later, I found out about two Greek chiptune releases from Half Lesbian netlabel: Obasilakis’ 8 Peaches of Love, and Mano Plizzi’s Deadhead. I contacted the owners of the netlabel and received a response from Mano, who was in fact Sally Zero. He continued his life narrative where he had left off two years ago in our previous discussion and explained that once he had completed his studies in Athens he moved to Berlin, in Germany. I asked him about the netlabel and his opinion on the Greek chipscene: For the time being, everyone in the Half Lesbian roster are Greeks, although two of four releases can be characterized as chiptune. Generally we don’t identify the netlabel as chip and/or Greek. . . . [In Greece] I don’t know many people that do chipmusic, but I wouldn’t know as I’ve lost contact with the “scene” other than a few friends in Berlin.13 I focused on a Half Lesbian-released chiptune composed by Obasilakis and Larisaiko Ati entitled “Paradosi” (Tradition). In this particular chiptune there are some prominent elements that echo Greek musical traditions. For example, the primary melody mimics cadential elements, melodic forms that emphasize modal construction, and circular breathing techniques of the Greek folk clarinet. Moreover, the title of the chiptune makes a direct reference to tradition, i.e. Greek folk music. Such national elements are sometimes observable in chiptunes from other nations, for example, in “Un Croissant, S’il Vous Plaît” composed by Ultrasyd who includes a few seconds of the French national hymn at the beginning of his performance. Similarly, Omodaka juxtaposes traditional Japanese and popular music characteristics in “Plum Song” (2009). The lyrics and vocal melody are borrowed from the Japanese folk song Ume WaSaitaka, which was originally a song from the Edo period (1603–1868) in the genre Jiuta in the style of Hauta (lyrical song). Concomitantly, the lyrical song is mixed with samples featuring the harmonic structure and some melodies from De Barge’s “I Like It” (1982), structured upon a tresillo, a duple-pulse rhythmic cell. In that sense, Greekness in chipmusic is not a unique characteristic of identifying one’s cultural background, but an intrinsic part of chipmusic trope. Epilogue: Future Considerations for the Greek Chipscene Network In order to decode the transnational flows of Greek chipmusic, I examined the chipscene network. I found social network analysis to be particularly useful for the chipscene because network structure highlights how seemingly faraway elements are strongly connected (Caldarelli and Catanzaro 2012: vii–i). I generated the chipscene graph using quantitative data (numbers of chipmusicians, releases, events) that are weighted by ethnographic information. Figure 8.1 depicts the Greek network as found within the wider chipscene network based on collected data during the two years of physical and digital fieldwork.14 The aim of the graph is to visualize relations between countries on the chipscene, tracing their connections. Currently, the Greek chipscene network is limited to three connection-edges with country nodes: (1) Italy, due to collaborations with Italian chipmusicians who have also performed in Greece; (2) Germany, a link which is

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Figure 8.1 The Greek Chipscene Network.

attributed to Greek migrants’ activity in Berlin, and (3) England, a relationship driven by diverse releases in British netlabels by Videogame Orchestra. Until recently, the Greek chipscene was relatively small. Yet there are several characteristics that Greek chipmusicians share with their international colleagues. First, as illustrated in the previous section, Greek chipmusicians appear as technologically literate geeks. Ramocki has suggested that once chipmusic became more popular, its audience also became more diverse, attracting three groups of people: “gamers, computer geeks, and sophisticated hipsters” (Ramocki 2006). In the contemporary setting of the chipscene, all three identities can be entrenched in one individual. Second, national musical elements can be traced in chiptunes, and there are certain occasions where this is highlighted. Third, and more importantly, there is a strong collaborative spirit within chipmusic ideology and, similarly, in Greek chipscene discourse – as the numbers of collaborative chiptunes demonstrate. Apart from these similarities, there is also the dissimilarity of the powerlessness of the Greek audience. Today, Chipmusic in Greece still primarily addresses a mixed audience. The target group is a mixture of a few chipmusic connoisseurs and electronic music fans, with a focus on experimental, electro-pop, and dance music listeners. Nevertheless, over the past 15 years there has been a tendency towards the use of custom electronics and musical instruments in Greece. Such a preference is driven by musicians’ search for unique sounds led by anti-consumerist ideology, which is in line with the political climate of the time.

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The field of the chipscene is constantly changing. As a digital culture, chipmusic is subject to daily modifications, which in some cases can have a devastating impact, as, for example, in the case of the sudden demise of 8bitcollective that vanished overnight. In Greece, chipmusic has not had the opportunity to develop and flourish due to a number of factors, ranging from politico-historical reasons to creative inertia. By examining chipmusic evolution within the transnational flows of the chipscene network, one can expect that chipmusic in Greece may extrapolate in and out of Greek borders, continuing its expansion. In addition, following other examples in the wider chipscene network (for example, Nine Inch Nails’ incorporation of 8-bit sounds into their music), we may encounter the co-optation of chipmusic samples into Greek pop songs (for example, in the collaboration of Playmen featuring Elena Paparizou, Courtney & Ristykidd in “All the Time” (2012)); experience the continuation of the musical tradition of hybrid compositions in Greece sporting, for example, 8-bit Greek folk music, in a similar manner that the Greek folk clarinet and stoner Rock are combined in the music of Villagers of Ioannina City; listen to chiptune cover versions of rebetika brought by chipmusicians inspired by “Kind of Bloop”, the 8-bit version of Miles Davis’ “Kind of Blue”; and finally, we may find, as Videogame Orchestra suggest, that “the future in dance music is chiptunes”.

Acknowledgments I would like to thank the State Scholarships Foundation in Greece for fully supporting my doctoral studies at the University of Oxford as well as my fieldwork in Greece and other European locations, and Stephen Millar for his comments on the first version of this chapter. In addition, I am grateful to St. Peter’s College and the Faculty of Music at Oxford for awarding me supplementary funds for fieldwork expenses. Notes 1 2 3 4 5 6 7 8

9 10 11 12

13 14

This ideology is inherited by the precursors of chipmusicians, the demosceners (Carlsson 2008a: 162; Tomczak 2011; Pasdzierny 2012; Nova 2014). See relevant literature on the demoscene and demos, for example, Tasajärvi et al. (2004); Reunanen and Silvast (2009); Reunanen (2010); Carlsson (2008a, 2010a, 2010 b). BBS was the point of contact and communication between demosceners. Using a phone line, a modem, and a computer, one could log onto the server and upload or download data. R. Cruz, personal communication, 2013. Quad interview in Game Set Watch magazine on December 17, 2008. A Music post on February 23, 2004. For an extensive analysis of netlabels see Hartmann (2004), and for netlabels in the chipscene and demoscene specifically, see Merz (2011). Chipmusicians use the term “drama” to describe negative forms of interaction in online places that refer to public conflict between members – similar to drama, the theatrical genre, online community drama needs an audience. As Sibai et al. (2013) point out from a psychological perspective, drama is part of an online community’s identity and occurs when online conflict causes negative and positive emotions. Usually, drama is followed by public discussion, sharing opinions in a neutral, positive, or negative manner. A. Torres, personal communication, 2013. I. Sifakis, personal communication, 2011. Niadoka, personal communication, 2012. On 22 December 2016, VGO performed at an electronic music event at Six Dogs, a gig space in central Athens. The overall theme was unrelated to chipmusic but relevant to underground electronic music. Perhaps this suggests that chipmusic is absorbed under the umbrella of “electronic music”. M. Plizzi, personal communication, 2013. The methods of the visualization of the chipscene network are explained in Polymeropoulou (2015).

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124 • Marilou Polymeropoulou Reunanen, Markku and Silvast, Antti. 2009. “Demoscene Platforms: A Case Study on the Adoption of Home Computers.” In History of Nordic Computing 2, ed. John Impagliazzo, Timo Järvi, and Petri Paju. Berlin: Springer, pp. 289–301. Ritzer, George and Jurgenson, N. 2010. “Production, Consumption, Prosumption: The Nature of Capitalism in the Age of the Digital ‘Prosumer’.” Journal of Consumer Culture 10(13): 13–36. Sibai, Olivier, Farrell, Andrew, Rudd, John, and de Valck, Kristine. 2013. “We Want Drama! The Effect of Online Conflict on Social Capital in Online Communities of Consumption.” Paper presented at the 42nd annual EMAC Conference. Proceedings edited by Sezgin, Selime, Elif Karaosmanoglu, and Ayse B. Elmadag Bas. Available at http://eprints.aston.ac.uk/21343/1/The_effect_of_online_conflict_on_social_capital_in_online_communities_of_ consumption.pdf (accessed April 20, 2015). Tasajärvi, Lassi, Stamnes, Bent and Schustin, Mikael. 2004. Demoscene: The Art of Real-Time. Helsinki: Even Lake Studios. Tomczak, Sebastian. 2008. “Authenticity and Emulation: Chiptune in the Early Twenty-First Century.” Paper given at the International Computer Music Conference. Tomczak, Sebastian. 2011. On the Development of an Interface Framework in Chipmusic: Theoretical Context, Case Studies and Creative Outcomes. PhD dissertation, Elder Conservatorium of Music, University of Adelaide. Tonelli, Chris. 2014. “The Chiptuning of the World: Game Boys, Imagined Travel, and Musical Meaning.” In The Oxford Handbook of Mobile Music Studies Volume 2, ed. Sumanth Gopinath and Jason Stanyek. New York: Oxford University Press, pp. 402–426. Yabsley, Alex. 2007. “The Sound of Playing: A Study into the Music and Culture of Chiptunes.” BA dissertation, Queensland Conservatorium, Griffith University. Zeilinger, Martin. 2012. “Chiptuning Intellectual Property: Digital Culture between Creative Commons and Moral Economy.” International Association for the Study of Popular Music Journal 3(1): 19–34. Zeilinger, Martin. 2014. “Chipmusic, Out of Tune: Crystal Castles and the Misappropriation of Creative CommonsLicensed Music.” In Dynamic Fair Dealing: Creating Canadian Culture Online, ed. Rosemary Coombe, Darren Vershler, and Martin Zeilinger. Toronto: University of Toronto Press, pp. 305–316.

Discography Niadoka. Ochtabita (Eightbits). Self-released album, 2013, digital format. Niadoka. Gloria. Tuffem Up! Records BLV780932, 2013, digital format. Niadoka. “In This Night.” In Gloria. Tuffem Up! Records BLV780932, 2013, digital format. Obasilakis. 8 Peaches of Love. Half Lesbian HAL 004, 2013, digital format. Plizzi, Mano. Deadhead. Half Lesbian HAL 001, 2013, digital format. Videogame Orchestra, Yinka. “Sentiment (Niadoka remix).” In Sentiment, Anthropos Mekhane AM003, 2013, digital format.

9 “Sharing What We Lack” Contextualizing Live Experimental Music in Post-2009 Athens Danae Stefanou

Introduction The years immediately following the onset of the Greek economic crisis witnessed a notable growth in do-it-yourself and collaborative music initiatives. Looking at the period from 2009 to 2013 in particular, impromptu home gigs and home-run labels of international outreach, exploratory cross-media workshops, spontaneous collectives and independently run venues hosting hundreds of shows per year attest to a paradoxically booming cultural life centered around experimentation on an individual and collective level. At the same time, a combination of harsh legal and economic measures abruptly introduced and/or reinforced since 2013, with Athens as the epicenter of law enforcement, have dramatically changed the game for all independent music-making, with dubious and uncertain results. Following Cage ([1955] 1961), Nyman ([1974] 1999), and more recent attempts at a definition (Mauceri 1997; Goehr 2008; Saunders 2009; Piekut 2011), experimental music is not so much understood as a musical genre per se; rather, it is a more complex aesthetic and social stance vis-à-vis music-making, inextricably bound up with ideas of perpetual questioning (Saladin 2012), and of initiating processes with uncertain outcomes and results (Eno 1999). This chapter draws attention to musical experimentation as “an act the outcome of which is unknown” (Cage [1955] 1961) in the erratically changing context of post-2009 Athens. The backbone to the investigation focuses on Knot Gallery, a dedicated venue in Athens which was active between 2009 and 2013. Knot is examined in the context of a broader microcultural shift: the rapid emergence and abrupt demise of accessible multi-function performance venues in Athens during the same period. The first section traces the performance space culture that made experimentation possible and even attractive to mainstream media at the onset of the crisis, and its rapid transformation into a “profit-or-die” rhetoric, with severe implications for all non-profit live music-making. The juxtaposition of intimate and exclusive versus allinclusive, mass-oriented venues leads to a discussion on listening and reception. Through the example of Athens-based trio Mohammad, the second section exposes a set of legitimizing discourses, constructed and employed in compensation for a perceived lack of context and genre specificity in Athenian experimental music. The third section concludes with a twofold problematization of (1) experimentalism as an international tradition with local manifestations, and (2) cultural or sociological accounts of idiosyncratic cultures and scenes, as mediated through the dominant functions of a music industry.

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Claiming a Space On December 21, 2009 Knot Gallery officially opened its doors to the public. On the invitations and accompanying press material, the venue was described as a “dedicated venue for experimental music and theatre”. On the opening night, acte vide, a piano and electronics duo which consists of myself and Knot Gallery music coordinator Yannis Kotsonis, played an improvised electroacoustic set, subsequently released on Greek-based independent label moremars’ “Nous” series, a “series of limited edition 3inch CDrs by artists, bands, composers, provocateurs or anything that are somehow related to the underground Greek scene”.1 Moremars, self-advertised as a “Greek-based experimental record label”, is one of several independent labels that have sprung up over the past decade in Greece, releasing and distributing experimental music internationally.2 Knot Gallery was quite literally an “underground Greek scene”. It was housed at an expansive 360sq.m. basement, formerly known to local residents as Retro, a popular discotheque during the late 1980s and 1990s. The space had been left derelict and partially flooded for years before being rented by Knot, a newly established non-profit company. Knot’s legal aim was the production and promotion of experimental theater and music activities, as well as intersections between these two poles. An emphasis on experimentation and participation was key to the venue’s and the company’s character, and explicitly laid out in the company’s mission statement and venue website.3 December, 2009 also marked the official closure of Small Music Theatre (SMT), a central Athens venue in Koukaki, which had consistently hosted hundreds of experimental music events, including regular open jams and workshops, for nearly a decade. SMT founder, Anastasis Grivas, had managed to build and sustain a small but internationally outreaching community of highly dedicated improvising musicians and listeners. For the previous decade, the venue had thus acted as a social and educational hub, where listeners and performers would freely come in contact with each other, blurring traditional distinctions between composing, performing, and listening. Several younger audience members with little or no formal musical training would start making their own music after having attended concerts, eagerly forming ad hoc improvised or electroacoustic music ensembles, and in some cases moving on to more formal studies in electronic music or composition as a result of their experiences at SMT. In short, the venue had become synonymous with an active experimental music community; this was considered a necessary role which Knot Gallery promised, to some extent, to resume.4 Knot Gallery was not the only new venue in town. The period from 2009 to 2011 saw an unprecedented surge in new companies and venues presenting collaborative work at a low production cost and minimum admittance fee. This was in fact the onset of a phenomenon whose implications have not yet been fully assessed: the rise and fall of the non-profit, multifunction arts venue. Vertically dropping rent prices, a turn towards collaborative, low-cost productions and a generalized rhetoric of cultural resistance and collective response to the extreme austerity conditions brought on by the economic crisis all contributed to this surge. The character of this new type of venue varied greatly among different cases, but the general premise was that of multiple functions, most commonly involving a single building for combined non-profit cultural purposes (including theater and performance art, visual arts, music, dance, collaborative workshops, etc.), sometimes in conjunction with a profitable small business, such as a café, bar, bistro, record store, or bookshop. The media and local free newspapers were quick to take note of this newly emerging type of venue, linking it to the crisis even before the

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crisis had set in (Lifo 2008), and propagating it as a daring business opportunity or even a remedy for recovery (Doulgeridis 2010; Spinou 2010; Gomouza and Zefkili 2012). The term polychoros (literally “multi-space”) became such a buzzword that even the Municipality of Athens employed it for some of its own buildings.5 Table 9.1 gives a brief overview of multi-space venues which were established between 2009 and 2013 and which, according to their press material, were involved in the production and/or hosting of experimental music concert series. Although concerts self-advertised as experimental were also presented in other spaces on an irregular basis (e.g. as one-off events), the venues included in Table 9.1 were, for a shorter or longer period during their lifespan, involved in the production or hosting of weekly or regular experimental music gigs. Table 9.1 Multi-space venues that hosted experimental music gigs in Athens on a regular basis during all or part of the period 2009 to 2013 Name

Company Established / Venue Opened*

Knot Gallery

December 2008 (as company)/ June 2013 November 2009 (official venue opening)

About

Spring 2010

January 2014

“Cultural venue”/“art gallery” (www.aboutt.gr)

Frown (Frown Tails)

Spring 2010 (as company)/ Autumn 2012 (as venue)

June 2014

“Non-profit project space” (www.frowntails.com/)

Zero

October 2012

February 2014

“DJ sets, gigs & alternative urban culture” (http://zeroathens.wordpress.com/)

No Central

Pre-2008 (as project rehearsal January 2013 space for The Erasers collective) January 2011 (as venue)

“zero program no kontroll” (www.facebook.com/nocentral)

Katarameno Syndromo

April 2009 (as venue)

March 2012

“Tropical wet hole in Athens GR. DIY punk, garage, noise, surf shows” (http://kataramenosyndromo.wordpress.com/)

Anamesa

November 2011

June 2014

“Experimental space for contemporary art, expression and exchange”(www.anamesa.gr)

Beton7

November 2009 (as venue)/ April 2010 (official venue opening)

Ongoing

“Center for the Arts” (www.beton7.com/index.php/en/beton7.html)

Baumstrasse

December 2010

Ongoing as “Multi-arts venue” (www.dentra.gr) theater workshop and education venue

Vyrsodepseio

June 2011

Ongoing as residency and workshop center

“Cultural space dedicated to contemporary art” (www.vyrsodepseio.com)

Six D.O.G.S.

October 2009

Ongoing

“All day–all night cultural entertainment center” (http://sixdogs.gr/about)

Ongoing

“Incubator for Start-up Companies and Cultural Center” (www.romantso.gr)

Bios Romantso June 2013 (venue opening)

Notes * Or relocated to present/last premises. ** All websites last accessed August 29, 2014.

Venue Closed

Description on Website**

“Non-profit company for experimental music & theatre” (http://knotarts.blogspot.gr)

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A quick look at Table 9.1 reveals the steep and transient shape of this growth. The rapid explosion of the collaborative multi-space phenomenon was met with an equally fast demise, due largely to an unprecedented combination of legal measures applied or enforced during 2013. In February 2013, over 30 multi-spaces in Athens, including Knot Gallery, received a notice of permanent closure from the Municipality of Athens’ Division of Commerce and Development, on the grounds of operating a theater without an appropriate license.6 Most of the multi-spaces or music venues hosting experimental music gigs were non-profit entities; entry to concerts was free or at very low cost to ensure access and participation, and many of the venues ran nonlicensed bars or charged on a donation basis to make ends meet. This was a second reason for imminent closures, as the summer of 2013 saw a flurry of penalties imposed upon music venues for running bar services without an appropriate license. By the start of the new concert season in September 2013, a third type of campaign had been launched, bringing into action a longforgotten and notoriously ambiguous law concerning employment and insurance rights for performing musicians. Any musician performing in public (even as a volunteer in educational or non-profit activities) has to be officially employed and insured by the venue hosting the event. Failure to comply results in a minimum fine of 10,500 euros (Ladonikolas 2013). This is significantly more money than the budget usually allowed for by collectives when opening up new venues, and certainly a fine that they would have no viable means of paying. It also leaves no room for ad hoc, amateur, or non-profit music-making activities. Under current legislation, anyone who performs music in public is legally considered as a professional musician playing for profit, and should therefore pay the appropriate taxes to do so. Subsequently, the majority of new venues that were, in principle, available to book for experimental music gigs either closed down during 2013/2014 or effected a change in their legal and promotional status, rebranding themselves as “cultural centers” or “creativity incubators”, and focusing on areas other than concerts –primarily education, new media, and nightlife.7 At the same time, large-scale dedicated arts venues, usually attached to private foundations (the Onassis Cultural Centre, also established in 2010, is a case in point) established a major stake in the promotion of experimental music, but solely in the context of a festival culture, i.e. through sparse, bundle-programmed events showcasing established international musicians, with tickets selling at accordingly elevated prices. In short, while incidental live music still abounds in Athenian bars and clubs, paid concert opportunities for local experimental and improvising musicians are scarce, and staging music for free has become an extremely costly endeavor post-2013. As Yannis Kotsonis summarizes, Most venues in Athens now promote a culture whereby drinks and networking should be paid for, but music can be enjoyed for next to nothing, especially if there are just local musicians playing. The primary objective of going out is meeting people and having a drink; if there is some live music on at the same time, all the better. This in itself denigrates the value of local musicianship. . . . But the biggest problem with all-inclusive bar venues is the sheer scale of their target. . . . Not everything has to happen in a space where you expect the whole of Athens to show up. There should be space for intimate, small-scale, dedicated things. Not everything should be mass-oriented. (Kotsonis in conversation, July 2014) A recent study by the National Centre for Social Research on music consumption in Athens venues (Souliotis et al. 2015) may better reveal the paradox in this situation. Asked whether they

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had visited any one of eight types of music venues (including music restaurants, jazz bars, Rock clubs, operas, or even “other types of indoor venues”) to listen to music over the preceding two years, nearly half of the study’s population responded negatively, and were classified as “inactive” consumers. It appears that the surviving music venues in Athens, “the world’s ‘failed’ consumer city par excellence” (Chatzidakis 2014: 36), are catering for virtually everyone and yet no one. Listening In: Aesthetics, Tradition, and Legitimization With musicians before 2009 and after 2013 having a hard time finding any space, let alone a suitable space, to perform in, the question of scale and target, just like a number of other aesthetic considerations, tends to become sidetracked or wholly neglected. Unsurprisingly, the function of dedicated venues like Knot Gallery and, previously, Small Music Theatre, has therefore often been described not only in educational but also in quasi-religious terms. Listeners, critics, and musicians often recount being “initiated” into experimental musical practices via the intimate and focused listening environments of these venues. Knot Gallery in particular was, first and foremost, a listening and viewing space. It had no bar and was one of very few Athens venues that upheld the complete smoking ban enforced in indoor public spaces since July 2009. Its atmosphere had been described by listeners and musicians as “a temple”, “a prayer room”, and “a shrine”. The lack of diversions normally associated with smoking bar premises was surely a factor in this impression, but for most listeners the main reason was the encouragement of silent listening during performances, and the lack of ambient music in between sets. For musicians coming from a Rock, metal, or dance music background where listening operates on starkly different terms, this strict focus on the music being presented was “a revelation . . . I will never forget my first gig there, that silence. Suddenly music was a space, and we were all, consciously, in that space.” 8 A focus on sheer sound (as space, texture, materiality, and, ultimately, as a kind of primary object) has been increasingly highlighted in contemporary theoretical discourses on experimental music (Saunders 2009; Marley and Wastell 2005; Voegelin 2010, 2014). Combined with the rhetoric of a religious-like space, where sonic artworks can be appreciated as sacred objects, however, this emphasis also resonates with more traditional, formalist discourses of musical autonomy. One could even go so far as to discern an affinity between current experimental music discourses and the “art-religion” rhetoric of nineteenth-century absolute music (Dahlhaus 1989: 90). The following excerpt is a 2012 Wire magazine review of Mohammad, a Greek-based trio (later a duo), originally comprising Nikos Veliotis (cello), Coti K (double-bass), and Ilios (custom-made Limax controller constructed by Coti K),9 who had made their debut at Knot Gallery two years earlier. Their performance at Cafe Oto, austere, in black, their eyes fixed on their instruments, remind me of the times I found myself in the corner of a dimly lit Greek Orthodox church pew, the scent of incense numbing my brain, silently listening to the morning chanting. Then too, there were more unuttered questions filling the air than there were forthcoming answers. Cagey as Mohammad might have seemed, I suspect after two decades of analysing sound and music, it’s only reasonable to change tactics when you don’t find what you were searching for, or if you’re reaching out to the spiritual. Even though at times, they both mean the exact same thing. (Ignatidou 2013)

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The terms of a sonic-religious analogy are set out here quite openly. What also surfaces, however, is the underlining of long-standing experience, almost in an effort to legitimize the character of the performance under review. Ignatidou, a Greek reviewer documenting the trio’s London appearance on behalf of a UK-based magazine, appears to suggest that a music of “more questions than answers”, whatever its sonic implications, may only be understood as reasonable at the end of a futile 20-year quest; and, even then, it can only be appreciated on metaphysical terms. In anxious need for reference to long-standing experience was also characteristic of Mohammad’s first review in Greek, following the trio’s February 2010 debut at Knot Gallery. The audience puffs out stressed, but they all remain faithfully devoted to the pauses and long crescendos of the experimental trio. The intensity never settles, not for a single moment . . . Mohammad belong to these rare few cases of experimentalists that make full use of Xenakis’ holistic perception and Christou’s experimental disposition, to develop their music based on the great heritage of these masters. It is not by accident, anyway, that they belong to those Greek artists with the most reviews by authoritative, international music magazines. (Plakias 2010) Here, too, a strong, almost unquestionable tradition, as well as a set of international authorities, were being evoked. And here, too, the desired result was a kind of metaphysical, extraneous legitimization – this time through history and translocality. The perceived object was a liminal music which required heavy contextualization in order to be justly appreciated; a music “so new and so crude yet” that it would be only reasonable for people to object to it. However, having heard members of the audience criticizing the music as “academic” and “elitist”, the reviewer concluded that such “sterile critique . . . has been rendered irrelevant, since the arrival of broadband internet” (Plakias 2010). The references to Xenakis and academicism, however convoluted, are not unjustified. Alongside the 183 concerts that took place at Knot Gallery during its three and a half years of activity there were regular improvisation and composition workshops, and frequent collaborations with the Contemporary Music Research Centre (KSYME).10 This was a small and for some time relatively inactive institution, originally co-founded by Xenakis in 1979, which was reactivated during Knot’s operation, and subsequently revamped into an educational center for emerging electronic musicians. Several experimental composers, most notably John Cage, were also high on Knot Gallery’s concert agenda. The venue hosted the first Greek performances of two John Cage works, 0′00″ (in 2011) and 33 1/3 (in 2012), as well as an original realization (in 2013) of Cage’s Song Books by Berlin-based musicians Rashad Becker and Reinhold Friedl. Interest in “historical experimentalism” was a direction clearly reflected in the Knot Gallery concert programming. (K)NØTmusic, a series title employed to distinguish concerts from theater events, revolved around a threefold definition of experimental music, openly communicated to musicians appearing at the venue:11 1 2 3

A music that is open-ended or indeterminate, in the Cagean sense, and whose end-product is not necessarily guaranteed or fully describable in advance. A music concerned with its materials, sonic or otherwise. A self-reflective, inquisitive music, that investigates or critically comments upon its own means of production. A music that somehow follows or builds on the tradition of early experimentalists. Various aspects of electroacoustic composition, analogue or DIY electronics, free improvisation, fluxus and performance art, extended performance techniques, graphic notation, minimalism,

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drone and noise could all fit into our concert series, even in cases where the outcome of one’s work is pretty fixed, and the processes they follow are not particularly self-reflective. The (K)NØTmusic description lays out a relatively broad range of aesthetic references that can, and did, encompass anything from freeform noise to improvised songwriting. However, it also raises the question of what kind of tradition may be evoked via experimental music and why. To go back to Plakias’ review of Mohammad, it is not Cage who was being referenced as a legitimizing figure but Xenakis and Christou, two “Greek icons” who had for several years acted as perceived father figures for emerging experimental musicians. And they were not being referenced for specific sonic attributes of their music, but rather thanks to their “perception” and “disposition”. As Veliotis confesses, the real irony in such references is that the group has in fact “never said a single word” about itself. Rather, thanks to reviews like the ones above, Mohammad developed a humorous habit of constructing their press releases solely out of terms used by reviewers to describe their records and performances.12 In fact, self-labeling oneself as experimental is often deliberately avoided or undermined by practicing local musicians, precisely because of a set of highly pervasive negative attributes: in public opinion, experimentalism is often associated with immaturity, and a lack of appropriate refinement in one’s output. At the same time, it is considered synonymous with sterile, academic, laboratory-based music-making that has very little to do with the powerful emotive experience of music in everyday life. The devaluation of experimentation as a simple trial that precedes the finished work (see also relevant critiques in Cage (1961) and Goehr (2008)), and the dismissal of experimental processes as inchoate forms not worth exposing or evaluating in public terms, are in deep resonance with an essentially modernist discourse of music as structured innovation, traditionally propagated through formal musical education in Greece (Kanellopoulos 2011; Stefanou 2012). This results in an interesting paradox: musicians who embrace the terminology of experimentation often describe themselves in strongly modernist, European avant-garde terms (e.g. as “breaking new ground in the contemporary local experimental music scene”13), while others, working with open-form and process-based structures, often persistently refuse any reference to improvisation and experimentation in an attempt to dissociate themselves from the aforementioned negative connotations. Recently, the term “underground” has re-entered local discourses, not only as a fashionable alternative to “experimental” but also in tribute to historical examples of dislocated, marginalized art operating in radically non-mainstream terms (see Moutsopoulos 2012). Understandably, the heterogeneous gray area that is experimental and improvised music, be it described as underground or in cognate terms, cannot exist without its hierarchies and distinct means of legitimization. A performance in venues such as Café Oto in London or Ausland in Berlin, and a review on London-based Wire magazine are relatively well-known examples of symbolic steps one needs to climb in order to “make the scene”. This idea of a latent, undefined “scene”, however, becomes strangely relativized as one moves further away from the geographic and social centers of free improvisation and experimental electronics, and beyond the implied music industry perspective of niche markets orbiting around a mainstream. Rethinking Scenes, Communities, and “Business-as-Usual” Experimentalism is both ordinary and extraordinary. It is the everyday world around us, as well as the possibility that this world might be otherwise. (Piekut 2013: 18–19)

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According to Nicholls, experimental musicians’ primary differentiation from their avant-garde counterparts is the formers’ tendency to locate themselves outside of any given tradition. This often leads to a significantly less privileged position in terms of “institutional support, social recognition and financial reward” (Nicholls 1998: 518). One might argue that the situation has changed considerably over the past decade via a growing availability of funding and affiliations in the broader field of sonic and media arts, which operate somewhat independently of the currently challenged channels of contemporary music composition. At the same time, the reconfiguration of experimentalism vis-à-vis a tradition is also indicative of an internationally evident change in internal dynamics. In her account of the recent social history of Berlin’s free improvisation scene, Marta Blazanovic maintains that: The musicians find themselves in an uneasy situation . . . being on the one hand not really recognized and supported institutionally and on the other hand being quite hopeless about ever reaching audiences wide enough to make a living out of it. This often forces them to support themselves by taking ordinary jobs alongside their music-making. (Blazanovic 2011: 47) The implication that “ordinary jobs” are somehow incompatible with experimental musicmaking is less than self-explanatory, and it is not the only such claim. A division of Berlin improvisers into “serious” and “unserious”[sic] camps (Blazanovic 2011: 40), a reference to “scene veterans” (ibid.: 44), and to “mixtures” of improvised music with pop genres as opposed to “more reflective or conceptual approaches to music-making” (ibid.: 40) all signify a conscious attempt to elevate a particular strand of Berlin’s experimental and improvised music to a perceived high-culture status, whereby aesthetic autonomy is somehow on a par with social and economic emancipation. There is at the same time something utopian and deeply hierarchical in this premise, particularly if one transposes its implications to post-2009 Athens. From a Bourdieusian perspective (Bourdieu 1993), the problem rests on the dual assumption that (1) there is symbolic capital to be accumulated at the end of this elevation, and (2) it can also be effortlessly translated into real capital. Strangely, this premise is openly applied to a way of music-making variously described by its practitioners as “an alternative cultural form” (Prevost 2008: 41) and an act that “shrieks protest at what capitalist business-as-usual does to music” (Watson 2004: 256). As Saladin (2012) summarizes, experimentation has, for some time now, been understood as a form of questioning. This includes not only a questioning of formal and stylistic norms and boundaries but also, more crucially, a problematization of music’s means and modes of production, and of the very reasons and objectives for making music and deciding to present and communicate it to particular kinds of public. This discourse is expressed, communicated, and interpreted through painstakingly regular and committed but also extremely small-scale and socially under-represented musical activities. How can donation concerts and house gigs in front of 10-person audiences, handcrafted limited record releases of under 50 copies, and venues that shut down months after their initial opening be considered as an alternative cultural form? And what are the implications of this alternative? In the 1970s, Dick Hebdige spoke of two readings of culture: culture “as a standard of [aesthetic] excellence” versus culture as “a whole way of life” which includes everyday meanings as much as institutional values (Hebdige 1979: 6–7). The first kind is laden with historical and political associations from which experimental music still strives to disassociate itself (Saunders

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2009; Saladin 2012). By contrast, the second kind of reading, more conducive to non-expert practices and everyday life contexts (Finnegan [1989] 2007; De Certeau 1984; De Nora 2004), is perhaps somewhat easier to identify in experimentation and improvisation. Yet, sticking to this second reading, there is something distinctly unwholesome about most experimental musicians’ way of life in present-day Athens, and the predicament of having to get “an ordinary job” alongside one’s music-making endeavors is nowhere near the real nature of the problem. With unemployment levels soaring, at one-third of the country’s working-age population in 2014, getting any kind of job is in itself a chimeric quest. For many musicians who choose to spend the majority of their enforced leisure time making music, investigating sound, and releasing the music they consider worthy of appreciation, the idea of “making the scene” is not always redeemable in any real, or even symbolic, currency. Instead, “the scene” appears more like a dysfunctional, conflict-ridden space, where everyday unresolved tensions, between professionalism and amateurism, being and becoming, products and processes, innovation and tradition, are played out in a constant vicious circle. International theoretical discussion of “scenes” has been very much in fashion since the early 1990s, when the term started to be applied to “both local and trans-local phenomena” (Straw 1991). “Scene” then, is a term used quite widely to encompass all of the above meanings and, in principle, to eschew direct associations with consumption and market-based hierarchical relations. Etymologically, however, a scene is a stage. Much as we would like to think of it in the pop culture terms that generated its current usage, namely as an open, flexible setting for the enactment of preferred narratives, Greek-speaking musicians also experience something deeply hierarchical at the root of this term, and perceive it in clear connection with the music industry. As Bennett notes, this fashion was pre-dated by the term “community”, which, like culture, has a dual meaning (Bennett 2004). It could refer to ways in which people situate themselves locally, in a particular region, or it could suggest a broader, romantic, or nostalgic construct whereby people who otherwise “lack commonality” (ibid.: 224) construct a common practice such as music, and elevate it to a shared “way of life” (ibid.). In the words of one of the musicians and regular audience members at Knot: There’s no Greek [experimental music] scene. I mean, there’s nothing to sell really, and no one to sell it to, so what’s the point in saying this is a scene? But you know, that’s the kind of stuff we all share I suppose, this lack. Maybe that kind of brings us together, we’re all just sharing what we lack. (Panos Alexiadis, musician and listener, in conversation at Knot Gallery, May 2013) The outlook of Alexiadis’s observation may seem nihilistic. Nevertheless, his words bring to mind Roberto Esposito’s reading of communitas as a bonding of the weak and commonly affected, defined by a common lack of individual privilege, a lack of immunitas. For Esposito, communitas is the totality of persons united not by “property” but precisely by an obligation or a debt; not by an “addition” but by a “subtraction”: by a lack, a limit that is configured as an onus, or even as a defective modality for him who is “affected”, unlike for him who is instead “exempt” or “exempted”. (Esposito [1998] 2009: 6)

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It is in this context that a communal identity, fostered by a sense of owing and lacking rather than owning and deserving, is being forged among Athens-based experimental musicians, and this community-in-emergence is caught in a pressing discrepancy. On the one hand, a vision of the arts as an achievement-based, proto-capitalist culture highlighted by recent EU cultural policy, promoted through international creative economy conferences and materialized in a world of creativity hubs, cultural incubators, and temporary start-up companies.14 On the other, a practice of intensely critical questioning, whereby, as Alain Badiou would have it, “it is better to do nothing than to contribute to the invention of formal ways of rendering visible that which Empire already recognizes as existent” (Badiou 2004: 119). The matter is deeply political as well as social. A consistent, dominant, and state-enforced rhetoric is currently impacting against experimental and improvised music-making in Athens. This rhetoric dictates by means both formal and informal, a long list of conditions never previously spelled out so loudly and clearly: if it is not mass reproduced, if it does not enjoy mass acclaim, if it does not cost anything to make and communicate, if it does not generate an income, if it is not produced by people who see it as a profession, music simply does not deserve to be thought of as music. It has no legal status as such, its practitioners do not receive social or legal recognition in that capacity (not even as amateur musicians), and the venues that host it cannot legally operate in accordance with any local or state authority legislation. There is something disturbingly wrong with this picture. To address it, however, let alone attempt to resolve it, one first needs to concede that there is a picture there to begin with. Acknowledgments My thanks go to all musicians and listeners at Knot Gallery (2009–2013) and various other venues (2013–2014), who eagerly engaged in conversation about their views on musical experimentation in present-day Greece, and especially to Anastasis Grivas, Nikos Veliotis, Nicolas Malevitsis, Yannis Iasonidis, Panos Alexiadis, Marios Moras, Angelos kyriou, and Yorgia Karidi whose observations during informal and more structured discussions enabled me to see the present text as the first step towards a much broader and longer term research project on the micro-histories of experimental music-making in Greece. Special thanks to Yannis Kotsonis for his support and in-depth accounts of music at Knot Gallery and beyond, and to Panagiotis Kanellopoulos for advice and feedback while writing this chapter. Notes 1 2

3 4

Moremars team, 2010–2014. Available at www.moremars.org (accessed June 30, 2014). Although this chapter focuses primarily on live rather than recorded music, a look at the recently launched Facebook group “DIY Labels in Greece” is a good starting point for further research in local experimental music discography, as is the collected catalog of the now defunct Absurd records and related sub-labels run singlehandedly by Nicolas Malevitsis, who has also been formative in the co-production of several live events with international guests over the past two decades. For references on Absurd and an archive of related activities before 2012 see Noise-Below-Diminished. 2017. Available at https://noise-below-diminished.tumblr.com/archive (accessed April 18, 2017). For examples of experimental and DIY record labels see Facebook. 2013–2014. “DIY LABELS IN GREECE” Group. Available at www.facebook.com/groups/1414573532126249/ (accessed July 31, 2014). See also Facebook. 2013–2014. “Experimental Music in Greece” Group. Available at www.facebook.com/groups/ experimentalmusicingreece/ (accessed August 10, 2014). Knot Arts. 2009–2013. Available at http://knotarts.blogspot.com (accessed July 13, 2014). (Anastasis Grivas, Nikos Veliotis, Nicolas Malevitsis, and Yannis Kotsonis, in private conversations, April to July, 2014). An investigation of the significance of SMT in the formation of current experimental music discourses in Greece would require more extensive historical and ethnographic research, which is beyond the limited scope of

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5 6

7

8 9 10 11 12 13 14

this chapter. This research is currently underway through interviews and preliminary archival investigation on experimental music venues in Athens post-1960, carried out with the assistance of graduate student members from Critical Music Histories study group, Aristotle University of Thessaloniki. City of Athens. 2013. Available at www.cityofathens.gr/katoikoi/texnes-politismos/xoroi-politismoy (accessed August 9, 2014). The reason officially stated on the notice was the “organization and hosting of theatre and stage productions without appropriate license”. The “appropriate license” was in fact a 1937 law (A.N. 446/37, published on January 25, 1937), originally drafted during the Metaxas dictatorship, and last revised in 1957 (Alternative Spaces Athens. 2013. “Enosi Horon Politismou Athinas”. Available at http://alternativespacesathens.blogspot.gr/p/about.html (accessed August 7, 2014). In response, the newly formed Union of Alternative Spaces in Athens pushed for a new, more inclusive bill, which was ultimately approved by the House of Parliament in early 2014. The new legislation, however, was not without its faults, and led to a second flurry of closures in August 2014 (Artplay. 2014. “Klinoun Ola ta Mikra Theatra tis Athinas”. Available at www.artplay.gr/theatro/klinoun-ola-ta-mikratheatra-tis-athinas/ (accessed August 7, 2014). Six D.O.G.S. in particular is the result of a merger between several smaller spaces in a small alley in downtown Athens. Its main live stage, previously known as Kinky Kong, had been very active in the production and hosting of local and international experimental music gigs until its closure in 2009. The new designation “entertainment center” is the legal term traditionally applied to late-running nightclubs, colloquially known as skyladika. The pairing of this new designation with a broader reference to culture (also seen in all venues that have survived the big shutdown of 2013/2014) is hardly a neutral gesture. On July 31, 2014, Six D.O.G.S. announced the impending launch of its own record label, which involves “vinyl and special edition releases” (post on Six D.O.G.S. Facebook page, July 31, 2014. Available at www.facebook.com/pages/Six-DOGS/146230588595 (accessed August 7, 2014)) to promote popular artists associated with the venue. Angelos Kyriou, musician and listener, in conversation, March 2014. Coti K. 2013. “Constructions.” Available at www.cotik.com/constructions/Limax.HTM (accessed August 1, 2014). KSYME. 2013. Contemporary Music Research Centre. Available at.http://ksyme.weebly.com/english1.html (accessed August 10, 2014). Kotsonis, in conversation, July 2014, citing excerpts from e-mail communication with artists, 2012 to 2013. Nikos Veliotis, in conversation, June 2014. Spyweirdos and Ntouvas, Spyros. 2011. Press Release, “Live at Six D.O.G.S, 4 November 2011.” Available at http://sixdogs.gr/event/270 (accessed August 8, 2014). See e.g. Creative Economy in Greece. 2014. Available at www.creativeconomyingreece.com/ (accessed January 24, 2015). For an overview and critique, see Creative Greece Network (2014).

Bibliography Badiou, Alain. 2004. “15 Theses on Contemporary Art.” Lacanian Ink 23: 100–119. Bennett, Andy. 2004. “Consolidating the Music Scenes Perspective.” Poetics 32: 223–234. Blazanovic, Marta. 2011. “Social History of the Echtzeitmusik Scene in Berlin.” In echtzeitmusik berlin: selbstbestimmungeinerszene/self-defining a scene, ed. B. Beins, Christian Kesten, Gisela Nauck, and Andrea Neumann. Hofheim: Wolke Verlag, pp. 29–32. Bourdieu, Pierre. 1993. The Field of Cultural Production: Essays on Art and Literature. New York: Columbia University Press. Cage, John. [1955] 1961. “Experimental Music: Doctrine.” In Silence: Lectures and Writings. Middletown: Wesleyan University Press, pp. 2–17. Chatzidakis, Andreas. 2014. “Athens as a Failed City for Consumption (In a World that Evaluates Everyone and Every Place by their Commodity Value).” In Crisis-scapes: Athens and Beyond, ed. J.K. Brekke, Dimitris Dalakoglou, Christos Filippidis, and Antonis Vradis. Published as part of the “City at a Time of Crisis” project. Athens: Crisisscape.net/ESRC, pp. 33–42. Creative Greece Network. 2014. “I Evropaiki Politistiki Politiki 2014–2020: Gia Poia Dimiourgiki Evropi Milame?” Creative Greece Network Blog, February 26. Available at http://creativegreece.net/tag/creative-europe/ (accessed August 10, 2014). Dahlhaus, Carl. 1989. The Idea of Absolute Music. Trans. Roger Lustig. Chicago, IL: The University of Chicago Press. De Certeau, Michel. 1984. The Practice of Everyday Life. Berkeley: University of California Press. De Nora, Tia. 2004. Music in Everyday Life. Cambridge: Cambridge University Press. Doulgeridis, Kostas. 2010. “Ki Omos Anoigoun, Ton Kairo Tis Krisis.” Ta Nea, July 31, 2010. Eno, Brian. 1999. “Foreword.” In Experimental Music: Cage and Beyond, by Michael Nyman. Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, pp. xi–xiv. Esposito, Roberto. [1998] 2009. Communitas. The Origin and Destiny of Community. Trans. Timothy Campbell. Stanford, CA: Stanford University Press. Finnegan, Ruth. [1989] 2007. The Hidden Musicians: Music-Making in an English Town. Middletown: Wesleyan University Press.

136 • Danae Stefanou Goehr, Lydia. 2008. Elective Affinities: Musical Essays in the History of Aesthetic Theory. New York: Columbia University Press. Gomouza, Ioanna and Zefkili, Despina. 2012. “10 Neoi Polychoroi Zontanevoun Tin Poli.” Athinorama, October 25. Available at www.athinorama.gr/daylife/article.aspx?id=13816 (accessed November 18, 2014). Hebdige, Dick. 1979. Subculture: The Meaning of Style. London: Routledge. Hesmondalgh, David. 2005. “Subcultures, Scenes or Tribes: None of the Above.” Journal of Youth Studies 8(1): 21–40. Ignatidou, Sophia. 2013. Mohammad: Secrets and Lyres. The Wire (website-only article). Available at www.thewire.co.uk/in-writing/interviews/mohammad-22820 (accessed August 4, 2014). Kanellopoulos, Panagiotis. 2011. “De-Canonising Music Education: An Homage to Christopher Small” (in Greek). Approaches 3(2): 74–81. Available at http://approaches.gr/volume-3-2-2011 (accessed March 27, 2017). Ladonikolas, Vassilis. 2013. “I ‘Tafoplaka’ ton Micron Live?” Alive, December 31. Available at http://alive.gr/alive-akicking/item/4151 (accessed August 9, 2014). Lifo. 2008. “Athens on Stage/I Skines tis Athinas.” No. 133, November 6. Available at www.lifo.gr/pdf/LIFO_133.pdf (accessed November 18, 2014). Marley, Brian and Wastell, Mark, eds. 2005. Blocks of Consciousness and the Unbroken Continuum. London: Sound 323. Mauceri, Frank X. 1997. “From Experimental Music to Musical Experiment.” Perspectives of New Music 35(1): 187–204. Moutsopoulos, Thanasis, ed. 2012. To Athinaiko Underground, 1964–1983. Athens: Athens Voice. Nicholls, David. 1998. “Avant-Garde and Experimental Music.” In The Cambridge History of American Music, ed. David Nicholls. Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, pp. 517–534. Nyman, Michael. [1974] 1999. Experimental Music: Cage and Beyond. Cambridge: Cambridge University Press. Piekut, Benjamin. 2011. Experimentalism Otherwise: The New York Avant Garde and its Limits. Berkeley: University of California Press. Plakias, Orestis. 2010. “Mohammad @ Knot Gallery.” Review for mixtape.gr. Available at http://www.mixtape.gr/ mohammad-knot-gallery/ (accessed August 1, 2014). Prevost, Edwin. 2008. “Free Improvisation in Music and Capitalism: Resisting Authority and the Cults of Scientism and Celebrity.” In Noise and Capitalism, ed. Mattin and Anthony Iles. Donostia-San Sebastian: Arteleku Audiolab. Saladin, Matthieu, ed. 2012. “L’ Expérimentation en Question – Experimentation in Question.” TACET, Experimental Music Review 2. Paris: Meteo. Saunders, James, ed. 2009. The Ashgate Research Companion to Experimental Music. Aldershot: Ashgate. Souliotis, Nikos, Kaftantzoglou, Roxane, and Emmanouil, Dimitris. 2015. “Politistiki Katanalosi – Episkepseis se Chorous Mousikis, Theatrou, Chorou kai Sinema stin Athina tou 2013: Apotelesmata tis Statistikis Analysis.” SECSTACON Research Report. Athens: National Centre for Social Research. Available at www.ekke.gr/secstacon/ MATERIAL/Episkepseis_se_xorous_mousikis_theatrou_xorou_cinema_EKKE.pdf (accessed October 8, 2016). Spinou, Pari. 2010. “Chtypisan Kentro.” Eleftherotypia/Epta, October 3. Available at www.enet.gr/?i=news.el. article&id=208506 (accessed November 18, 2014). Stefanou, Danae. 2012. “Prologos stin Elliniki Ekdosi.” In Peiramatiki Mousiki, by M. Nyman. Athens: Ekdoseis 8, pp. 13–19. Straw, Will. 1991. “Systems of Articulation Logics of Change: Communities and Scenes in Popular Music.” Cultural Studies 5(3): 368–388. Voegelin, Salome. 2010. Listening to Noise and Silence: Towards a Philosophy of Sound Art. London and New York: Continuum. Voegelin, Salome. 2014. Sonic Possible Worlds: Hearing the Continuum of Sound. London: Bloomsbury. Watson, Ben. 2004. Derek Bailey and the Story of Free Improvisation. London: Verso.

PART

IV

Counter-Stories Preamble Part IV deals with relatively neglected phenomena and overlooked alterities in the historiography of Greek popular music, highlighting counter-stories of the “Greek popular”. In Chapter 10, Papaeti presents the way popular music was used as a medium of terror and propaganda, next to the Colonels’ appropriation of certain dimotiko traghoudi genres that were instrumentalized for the legitimation of nationalist ideologies. The second section of her chapter discusses the Song Olympiad, the most prestigious and politicized international festival organized during the dictatorship years promoting elafry traghoudi (light popular song) against the mass popularization of the bouzouki-based laiko traghoudi (urban popular song). As a popular extravaganza, the Song Olympiad served the regime’s cultural politics, intending to counter its defamation by foreign media based on reports of human rights abuses, the ongoing European Council’s investigation, and the growing discomfort of many European countries. The final section discusses the use of particular popular songs by the Athens-based Special Interrogation Unit of the Greek Military Police in the context of then cutting-edge techniques of torture based on interviews with former detainees. In Chapter 11, Theodosiou introduces two powerless politically yet powerful musically Gypsy popular figures, Kostas Chatzis and Manolis Angelopoulos, who have been largely neglected in scholarly research thus far. Both cases perplex the notion of the “Greek popular” challenging hegemonic and, to a great extent, racialized historiographies through the exploration of the political economy of affect. By critically questioning the affective legacy of Gypsy musical production, Theodosiou focuses on the ways in which the ambiguous affective legacy of “Gypsy passion” is mobilized as emotional capital in the production of Roma subjectivities within diverse musical scenes. Through an exploration of Kostas Chatzis’ branding as a troubadour of social justice and Manolis Angelopoulos’ voicing of sentimental surplus in postwar laiko song, the author examines their multiple positioning in the context of the neoliberal politics of multiculturalism reframing the negotiation of Gypsy cultural value as a social/political project in which racism is at once reaffirmed and negated. The inclusion of a chapter dealing with the rap collective Da New Chain formed by Albanian migrants in Greece is intended to challenge the strategic exclusion of non-Grecophone popular scenes from Greek popular music history, questioning their essentialized understanding as “migrant” musics. In Chapter 12, Styliou discusses the poetics of identity featured in the rap aesthetics of flow-in-rupture, also encapsulating the notion of lëvizje, an Albanian term signifying movement in space, as well as a condition of change and action. By unsettling conventional representations of hip-hop as a form of racist resistance, Styliou stresses the reterritorialization of the genre as a performance of cultural sensibility, addressing in particular their compatriots in the country of origin. The author explores the inherent experience of movement in the group’s lyrical world, which is represented as a kind of habitus defining a certain form of subjectivity

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identified with a state of constant vigilance and quest. In the place of romanticized nostalgic representations of home, the group addresses home through expressions of disappointment and anger, targeting post-socialist political corruption in Albania. Their music voices, for Styliou, a call for action and for imaginative thinking against hegemonic narratives of power and identity.

10 Popular Music and the Colonels Terror and Manipulation under the Military Dictatorship (1967–1974) Anna Papaeti

On April 21, 1967, a military dictatorship (hereafter the “Junta”) led by the so-called Colonels seized power in Greece, aiming to prevent elections that most probably would have resulted in an electoral victory for the Left party coalition EDA (United Democratic Left). By combining terror and systematic propaganda, the Junta successfully retained power for seven years up until July, 1974. Positioning themselves as the nation’s redeemers, the Colonels pledged to rescue Greece from the imminent threat of communism and to restore its past greatness and glory. Central to this “revival” were the diachronic values and ideals embodied in Greek folk culture and national history. Their nationalistic rhetoric emphasized the cultural continuity of the Greek nation throughout the centuries. Folk music was at the heart of this rhetoric. This chapter investigates popular music under the Colonels’ Junta in Greece. It documents and discusses the ways in which the Junta used popular music as a means of terror and manipulation. Popular music here includes genres such as dhimotiko traghoudi (folk-song), elafry traghoudi (light song), and laiko traghoudi (urban popular song).1 The chapter shows how the Colonels’ proclaimed allegiance to folk music was a strategy of legitimation. It also examines the founding of the International Song Olympiad, an annual international “light song” contest, in the context of the pre-existing opposition between elafry and laiko in Greek musical life. The politics of the Song Olympiad are analyzed in light of the case against Greece at the European Court of Human Rights, Strasbourg. The chapter argues that this new festival provided the regime with an ideal platform for international and national propaganda. Finally, the chapter documents the use of popular music as part of a combination of cutting-edge interrogation techniques practiced at the notorious Athens-based Special Interrogation Unit of Greek Military Police (EAT/ESA). Folk Music and National Fantasies From the earliest days of the coup, radio broadcasts were filled with the sounds of marches and folk-songs, establishing the combination of these two genres as the major acoustic marker of the regime. The vivid and exact impression registered by Takis Benas, a high-ranking member of the then Greek Communist Party (KKE), is in this regard characteristic. Benas remembers: the totally unbearable [days] of military uniforms and priests’ cassocks, black cassocks and olive drab, and continuously the radio playing “Gia Ideste ton Amaranto” (Look at the

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Amaranth), along with “Ton Echthron ta Fousata Perasan” (The Enemies’ Troops Have Passed). (Benas 2007: 45, my translation) The first piece Benas names is a folk-song, the second a march. This pairing of folk music and marches is not limited to the Greek case. It has also been observed in other military dictatorships aiming to manipulate national sentiment through folk culture. Moreover, it is especially telling that Benas identifies these two songs in particular; both suggest the nation’s resilience through centuries of struggle and hardship. “Ton Echthron ta Fousata Perasan” is the first line of the march “I Ellada pote den Pethainei” (Greece Never Dies). Referring to Greece’s participation in World War II, it is a song that proclaims the country’s endurance in the face of calamity. Similarly, the folk-song “Gia Ideste ton Amaranto” – a folk male dance from mainland Greece (tsamiko) – suggests the Greek nation’s toughness and powers of survival: like the amaranth, it thrives in the most hostile environments. Asserting and celebrating Greek national resilience and continuity, folk music and marches were widely used by the Colonels to give musical reinforcement to their message of national rebirth and redemption. Indeed, from the early days of the coup folk music became more prevalent in the aesthetic representation of the regime. National celebrations were exploited as occasions for cultural propaganda; under the Junta, for example, they featured young people dancing to folk music in traditional costumes. This presence on celebration days was reinforced by national radio playlists and television programming. Typical is the documentary Choroı kaı Foresies tou Topou mas (Dances and Costumes of Our Country; Matsas 1969), produced by the Ministry of State. In this 1969 production, links are constantly made between ancient Greece and folk culture, evident in costumes, dances, and musical instruments. According to the narrator, in the case of the dance Tai Tai from Thessaly the dance’s origins date back to the ancient dance of the Caryatids and have survived intact through Byzantine times. He concludes that these dances are “danced today unaltered, underscoring the sacred continuity that nothing was able to break”.2 By stressing the ideas of national purity and authenticity, this documentary shows clearly the national fantasies operating at the time of unbroken cultural continuity from antiquity to modern Greece via folk culture. This discourse, however, did not originate with the Colonels. On the contrary, as Michael Herzfeld has masterfully explored, it was the ideological basis on which folklore studies emerged during the war of independence against the Ottomans and the formation of the Greek state (Herzfeld 1986). To the idea of cultural continuity, Greek folklore studies later added the aspect of racial purity after state formation was accomplished (ibid.: 18). The folk-song was crucial in this quest. By providing the missing link from antiquity to modern times (and thus rehabilitating the illiterate peasantry that formed a large part of the Greek population), it became an aesthetically central and ideologically charged category. In this sense, the Colonels did not so much invent something new as simply reiterate, in a very crude and nationalistic manner, an ideological position that had been established in the national imaginary for over a century. It is also important to note in this context that the revival of folk music predated the regime. The scope of this chapter does not permit an exhaustive discussion of such uses. A few important examples are mentioned here to show how the preoccupation with folk music unfolded over the decades leading up to the Junta period. A central figure to the collection of folk tunes in the 1920s was Simon Karras, who also founded the national music department of Greek National Radio in 1938 (Kallimopoulou 2009: 41–45). Folk music was used by Manolis Kalomiris (1883–1962) and the National School in their music compositions within the context

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of classical music. However, a younger generation of composers from the 1950s onward stressed the urgency of collecting and publishing folk music and dances, proclaiming a less superficial use of folk music. Indicative is the Schedio Programmatos gia tin Anadiorganosi tis Ellinikis Mousikis (Music Manifesto: A Draft Plan for the Reorganization of Greek Music, 1960), authored by left-wing composer Mikis Theodorakis and signed by five other musicians (Theodorakis 1974: 116–121). Theodorakis, in particular, became well known for incorporating folk elements into his own music, and for his ideological discourse on a new kind of Greek popular music that reconnected the people with the nation. When the Junta came to power, it appropriated the folk-song for its own ideological discourse of national identity in an attempt at legitimization. Musicians reacted to such appropriations by invoking folk music in their own work. Yiannis Markopoulos’ album Rizitika (1971) with singer and Cretan lyra player Nikos Xylouris and the work of singer-songwriter Dionysis Savvopoulos are exemplary in this regard.3 Reactions to the Junta’s appropriation of folk tradition were extended to the literary world. A good example is the publication of Kleftika (Ermis Editions, 1973) by Alexis Politis: it included an introduction that dealt directly with the Junta’s politics, arguing that Kleftika were essentially songs of liberation (Papanikolaou 2010: 190-193). It is therefore more accurate to say that divergent accounts of folk music constituted a struggle over appropriation – a struggle that was political, aesthetic, and academic. However, the Junta, with its control over media representations and national celebrations, succeeded in associating itself with particular kinds of folk music to the point that these became virtually synonymous with the regime (Papaeti 2013b: 41). This was primarily the case with folk dances from mainland Greece, in particular the dance tsamiko.4 Its associations with the struggle for independence against the Ottomans turned tsamiko and the so-called kleftic dances into ideological vehicles of the national continuity discourse of the regime (Papaeti 2015: 51–53). According to the Colonels, Greek history comprised a long line of glorious periods marked by unbroken cultural unity. To this heroic lineage, the Colonels were quick to add their own military takeover, the so-called “21st of April Revolution”. Positioning themselves at the heart of this national fantasy, they claimed to be both the embodiment of a seamless tradition and the moral redeemers of the nation. The Colonels performed their claimed roles actively and publicly by participating ostentatiously in traditional dances during national celebrations. This was especially the case with their leader Georgios Papadopoulos. Images of him leading the dance abounded in both press and television. So important were these televised images to the regime that on some occasions it even went so far as to stage and film them in advance of the actual event. According to the newspaper Ta Nea, due to technical difficulties broadcasts of the dictators celebrating Easter Sunday in the barracks were shot on Good Friday, the archetypal day of mourning in the Greek Orthodox calendar, so as to be broadcast on Sunday: While the Athenians were attending the Mass of Passion, in the barracks the soldiers turned the lamb on a spit [and] played drums [daouli] and violins, as the dictators danced tsamiko and kalamatiano. (Kambanis 1974: 4, my translation) In their public performances on days of national celebration, the Colonels acted out, for mass consumption, the meanings they assigned to folk music. These meanings were simultaneously elaborated by Colonel Ioannis Ladas, one of the regime’s most important ideologues and a coinstigator of the 1967 coup. In a talk given in February, 1970, at the inauguration ceremony of

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a music center in Kalamata, Ladas spoke extensively about the idea of national continuity through music, an art he viewed as inherently Greek. Stressing this idea of continuity from antiquity (through the writings of Aristoxenos, Theofrastos, and Aristotle) up until the present day, Ladas exalted the “patriotic folk-song” as opposed to other “foreign” music genres that had gained popularity in contemporary society: Since we, the Greeks, have laid the foundations of music, . . . we [then] came to give it an incomparable and metaphysical grandeur through our Byzantine music. During the Ottomans, our music found its way to our patriotic folk song [dhimotiko traghoudi]. Folk music strengthened the feelings of those enslaved, underlining the aspirations, struggles, and sacrifices of the occupied nation. . . . And then we come to modern Greece, plagued by the bug of loving everything foreign. Foreign musicians are admired whereas Greeks are ignored. . . . The invasion of foreign ideas into music is unacceptable, expressing emotions which are not felt and will never be felt by the Greek soul. I refer to psychedelic music and other similar tendencies, which instead of ennobling the passions and softening their character, as our forefathers have taught us that music should do, rather arouse the instincts and degrade human beings into sordid existences. As a result, this love for the foreign [xenomania] in music has overshadowed our folk music, which was not created by drug-addict hippies, but sprang from pure and authentic emotions. (Ladas 1970: 94–95, my translation, emphasis added) Folk music is, Ladas contends, the music of the nation. It springs unforced and genuinely from pure emotions of the Greeks: a noble and moral art with healing and reforming properties both for the individual and society. Foreign genres, by contrast, are treated as sources of corruption, suspected of spreading immoral, obscene, and pessimistic ideas. Such a corrupting art will be crushed by the state (ibid.: 95–96).5 Despite the severity of Ladas’ tone, however, the Colonels’ cultural policies were not as strict as one might believe. Examination of radio playlists establishes that while folk music was gradually becoming more prominent, particularly in the early years of the dictatorship, different kinds of music were also included in broadcasts. Greek and foreign “light music”, pop music, and classical music were played daily. The official discourse of progress and prosperity, and the Junta’s identification with the West, required the presence of so-called Western music(s). National institutions of classical music and festivals of “light song” continued to be supported even as new institutions were founded, namely the International Song Olympiad. A Crusade against the Bouzouki: The Song Olympiad and the “Case of Greece” Organized under the aegis of the Ministry of the Presidency, the International Song Olympiad was the most prestigious and politicized festival in Greece during the dictatorship. It was a popular extravaganza, with a classical title to claim continuity with ancient Greek culture and reap the associated kudos. Although the festival’s name invokes classical Greece, the choice of elafry (light song) points to a leaning towards Western musical aesthetics. Giorgos Oikonomidis, the Song Olympiad’s artistic director, saw the festival as a “crusade” promoting the light song against laiko (urban popular song) and the instrument most associated with it, the bouzouki: Because we are in a strange period . . . of bouzoukifying everything, I have declared a peaceful war, aiming at the victory of the light melody. So that elafry traghoudi takes, in other words,

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its place and puts laiko in its place. . . . Not that there aren’t any good or decent laika songs, or good composers, songwriters, or performers in laiki music. On the contrary. However, the promotion of elafry is imperative because the continuously supported laiko has overshadowed everything. This crusade is inaugurated with the idea of the international “Olympiad of Song”. (Makridis 1968: 4, my translation, emphasis added) For Oikonomidis, the bouzouki is suspect for its infectious sounds; it has corrupted musical life. In his crusade against the popular song, Oikonomidis went so far as to ban the bouzouki from the orchestra. An announcement calling for submissions in the newspaper Ta Nea in May, 1968 is telling: “the submitted compositions . . . must be light songs composed according to the known models of European and Greek light song. It is stressed that the orchestra . . . will not include popular [laika] instruments”. (Anonymous 1968a: 2, my translation) Both aesthetically and ideologically, then, the Song Olympiad strongly reinforced the opposition between the elafry and laiko songs. Drawing upon Western musical traditions, elafry was associated with the middle and upper classes. By contrast, laiko essentially developed out of the rebetiko, an urban popular genre identified with the lower working classes and criminal underclass (Economou 2018; Kallimopoulou and Poulos 2017). One strand of studies has considered rebetiko as a genre brought to Greece by refugees from Asia Minor in 1922 following Greece’s defeat in the war against Turkey. However, as Dimitris Papanikolaou argues, more recent research has considered the rebetiko tradition as “the product of long and intense negotiations, both within and outside that particular field of music . . . a palimpsest of styles, cultural practices, and musical idioms”; its transformations in the 1950s and 1960s gave rebetiko its generic stability and visibility, he concludes (Papanikolaou 2007: 64). In the 1950s rebetiko became popular and influential, particularly with the development of laiko.6 Nevertheless, it still met with a great deal of hostility. The opposition between elafry and laiko may be read in the bitter debates provoked by two recordings of Mikis Theodorakis’ song cycle Epitafios (1960), based on poetry by Yannis Ritsos. Both recordings appeared in 1961, but their different aesthetic stances split audiences into two opposing camps. Theodorakis’ own version (Columbia Records) was accused of degrading poetry through the vulgar sound of the bouzouki and the unsuitable rebetiko voice of Grigoris Bithikotsis. The other one, the version by Manos Hadjidakis with Fidelity Records, was deemed to be Westernized by “light music” instruments and the singer Nana Mouschouri (Theodorakis 1974: 169–234; Papanikolaou 2007: 81–86; Tragaki 2005). Remarkable here is Theodorakis’ ideological rhetoric on laiko (Theodorakis 1974: 157–267), which sets out to reclaim it as a genuine expression of the people (Papanikolaou 2008). This genre, he argued, embodied the cultural continuity of the Greek nation (from Byzantium to the folk-song), incorporating the struggles of the nation. Along with the folk-song, it constituted Greek national music. Laiko song makes one think and remember, he claimed. On the contrary, disconnected from the struggles of the nation, elafry fosters relaxation and forgetfulness (Theodorakis 1974: 185). Central to this “national” genre was the bouzouki. Just as Oikonomidis banned the bouzouki from his “light song” contest, Theodorakis dropped the accordion from his orchestration, deeming it unsuitable to the spirit of Greek music (Giannaris 1973: 159). Theodorakis’ rhetoric here, then, is equally essentializing and nationalistic as that of the Colonels, even if his approach reflects a very different political agenda. In this context, the emphatic choice of elafry for the Song Olympiad evinces a certain cultural opportunism: the Colonels were happy to pick and choose whatever genre best suited their political needs. In this case, the

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vision of progress and prosperity they wished to communicate both at home and abroad was best met through the genre of the “light song”. The politics of the Song Olympiad cannot be fully understood, however, until one takes into account human rights violations reported to the Human Rights Committee of the European Council at the European Court of Human Rights in Strasbourg (Nijboff 1972; Konstas 1976). The main complaint against Greece had been brought by Denmark, Norway, and Sweden in September 1967, and later by Holland. On October 2, 1967, the Human Rights Committee decided to investigate these complaints and requested the Greek government to submit a written explanation. Just 19 days later (and 6 months to the day after the coup), the establishment of the Song Olympiad was announced (Epikaira 1967). This timing was in no way accidental. Greece already had a “light music” festival for the needs of the country, organized every year in the context of the Thessaloniki International Fair. However, an international event like the Olympiad gave the regime the much-needed propaganda material to counter the numerous articles on torture allegations in the foreign press, the ongoing European investigation, and the reservations of many European nations. US support for the regime notwithstanding, the international image of Greece was damaged by the Strasbourg trial. After two years of diplomatic pressure and reporting, Greece left the Council of Europe in December 1969 in order to avoid expulsion. In this light, the Song Olympiad should be seen primarily as a propaganda platform aiming to counter the negative image and publicity produced by Europe’s human rights complaints and investigation. For the First Song Olympiad, all stages of planning were closely covered by the state-run television news program Ta Epikaira, which broadcast reports on the numerous trips made by Oikonomidis for promotion purposes, press conferences, and meetings with foreign artists. The international significance of the event was emphasized on every occasion. The festival’s budgets included large sums for awards, organization, and promotion: the awards for 1968 alone amounted to 500,000 drachmas. The audience of the First Olympiad could participate in a lottery for gifts, including a luxurious car, and a fenced plot of land and a house (Anonymous 1968c). This squandering of public money led in 1977 to a lawsuit against Oikonomidis and the Junta’s Culture Minister, Constantinos Panagiotakis (Anonymous 1977). Constantine Plevris, author of Politiki Propaganda (Political Propaganda, 1968) and teacher of propaganda in police and military academies, clearly explained the rationale behind such lavish state expenditures: The entire and well-planned celebration of the festival aims at creating an extreme impression, which the state will then use appropriately. Indeed festivals are expensive. But it is precisely this squandering and this wealth that causes the necessary impressions. The secret of the festival’s success lies in the total lack of economizing. (Plevris 1995 [1968]: 166–167, my translation) For Plevris, foreign participation in festivals bolsters a regime’s international image and creates a concealing façade of enthusiasm and excitement: This front is by definition the misleading visiting card with which it [the regime] appears in the outside world. The name of a known artist resonates with sympathy to every kind of man, because artists have an advantage that is impossible for politicians to have: They have no enemies. (ibid.: 170)

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The Colonels’ strategy seems to have been largely successful. The First Olympiad (July 25–27, 1968) hosted artists from 17 countries, including the United Kingdom, Spain, Belgium, France, Germany, Italy, Holland, Malta, Portugal, Egypt, and Turkey (Anonymous 1968b). During the six Song Olympiads, well-known international artists appeared as guest stars alongside contestants, offering indirect recognition to a regime renowned for its brutality. These included Charles Aznavour, Salvatore Adamo, Josephine Baker, Al Bano, and Vicky Leandros. As Oikonomidis put it in his opening speech for the First Song Olympiad, foreign artists would become the country’s ambassadors, conveying the courtesy and rectitude of the Greek people (Epikaira 1968b). The response of the 1968 winner, Louis Neff, is indicative. In a press conference in his home country of Belgium, he noted that “he was charmed by Athens, which was purveyed by absolute serenity; he had no sense of any kind of pressure or tension” (Anonymous 1968e). The event was well covered by the international press, including enthusiastic reviews from Italian journalists (Anonymous 1968d). The Italian Minister of Tourism even bestowed the Oscar Silver Mask Award upon Oikonomidis for his success with the First Olympiad (Anonymous 1968c). In another notable foreign endorsement, the Dutch record label Phillips organized a press conference and reception in advance of the First Olympiad’s opening (Epikaira 1968a). Praising Greece and its hospitality, the company’s President expressed his wish that the Olympiad would become a permanent international institution. For his part, Oikonomidis emphasized that in Greece foreign guests would find serenity, joy, and love; in other words, all those things of which its own citizens were being deprived. Music and Torture by the Greek Military Police Music can amount to torture, and lyrics can be the vehicle of human rights abuses. (Dean Spielmann (former President of the European Human Rights Court), 2012) The most disturbing use of popular music by the Junta took place in the isolation cells of the Athens-based Special Interrogation Unit of the Greek Military Police (EAT/ESA). Established in autumn, 1968, this special branch soon became synonymous with torture and terror. As I have shown elsewhere, sound and music were used by different bodies of the Junta during detention and interrogation as a means to terrorize, humiliate, and “break” detainees (Papaeti 2013a, 2013b). According to interviews conducted by the author with survivors and an ESA soldier, music was an integral part of interrogation techniques at EAT/ESA, at least from May to November, 1973. A combination of methods, including isolation, sensory deprivation, stress positions, noise, and silence, reflected cutting-edge interrogation methods of the time and aimed at “a systematic attack on all human senses” (McCoy 2006: 8). Devised by the CIA and its allies and understood as a way of countering Soviet so-called brainwashing, the new methods were detailed in the CIA’s Kubark manual (Anonymous 1963; McCoy 2006: 21–59). In the isolation cells and interrogation rooms of EAT/ESA, methods deployed included standing for long periods in an empty room (sometimes on one foot), sleep deprivation, food and drink deprivation, beatings, forced singing/dancing, loud sounds, and humiliations. According to testimonies collected by the author, during the period from May to November, 1973 this “ritual” also included the repetition of popular hits of the time, played loudly over loudspeakers. The use of music was mentioned twice during testimony in the trials of the Junta’s torturers, but these were ignored in ensuing debates (Rodakis 1976: 225, 408). This lack of

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attention continued in Greece, with the exception of Elias Maglinis’ 2008 novel I Anakrisi (The Interrogation), which takes as a leitmotiv the use by torturers of the popular hit song “Tarzan” (1972). This song was actually mentioned in the testimony of “A” in the proceedings of the first torturers’ trial (1975). Composed by left-wing composer Yannis Markopoulos, the song describes a fantasy of insurgency amidst the jungle’s wild, devouring beasts. Despite its veiled anti-Junta lyrics, it passed censorship and became a hit. Although Maglinis’ novel enjoyed a wide readership, it did not generate any new discussion about the use of music in torture, even though it was published at a time when such practices were being much discussed vis-à-vis the “War on Terror”. Instead, the traditional understanding of music as ennobling has largely preconditioned a certain critical blindness. Partly as a consequence, it has generally been assumed that radio

Figure 10.1 Gate of the former headquarters of the Special Interrogation Unit of the Greek Military Police (EAT/ESA), 1976. Source: With the kind permission of Antonis Lionarakis.

Popular Music and the Colonels (1967–1974) • 147

music played during the Junta was used merely to mask the screams of those being tortured.7 It also seems that the regime was believed to be too crude to have employed such sophisticated techniques so, and this preconditioned the assumption that radio music was not actively implicated in the torture ritual. On the contrary, interviews I conducted with detainees at EAT/ESA and an ESA soldier paint a very different picture. Survivors speak of particular songs being played loudly and repetitively from loudspeakers. Such precise descriptions discredit the assumption that radio music was played as an acoustic veil; they suggest instead the deliberate use of music in the torture ritual. These songs were understood by detainees to be highly ironic, offensive, and humiliating. Two cases are examined here. Pseudonyms are used in order to protect the identity and privacy of my interviewees.

Figure 10.2 Interrogation cell at EAT/ESA, 1976. Source: With the kind permission of Antonis Lionarakis.

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The cases examined here are of two officers arrested in May, 1973 for their part in the Navy Movement.8 In its aim to overthrow the regime, this movement represented a significant blow to the Junta, especially because it constituted resistance from the ranks of the military rather than from civil society. “B”, a Lieutenant Commander of the Navy, was arrested on May 25, 1973 and held at the General Navy headquarters (YEN) in isolation. He was taken to EAT/ESA in mid-June, where he was held for a week. He recalls: What I remember is that day and night they played a song that I will never forget. It was “Tha pao sti zougla me ton Tarzan” (I will go to the jungle with Tarzan). Day and night, top volume. . . . Repeatedly. It’s like the [Chinese] drop. It grates on the nerves. . . . Loud is of course relative. It depends on where the loudspeaker is positioned and where the cell is. . . . And there were, of course, various sounds, screams, and some staged screams when they shouted between them. . . . We were made to stand all the time. Standing up continuously, no bed, no nothing. . . . “Tarzan” all the time. This has stuck in my memory. Another combination of songs is encountered in the testimony of the late “F”, a Cavalry Captain arrested on May 31, 1973. “F” also identified “Tarzan” and added two other songs: the hit by singer Giorgos Kinousis, “Oloi tha Zisoume” (“Ta Pedia”) (We Will All Live (The Guys), 1973) and “Stephanos” (1972) sung by Antonis Kalogiannis. While the first two songs were played during torture, “Stephanos” was reserved for the very end. This song about the death of the good man Stephanos, mourned by his friends, became the soundtrack marking the end of each torture session, during which the brutally abused “F” had resisted forced confession. The choice of songs and, in this case, the order in which they were played show how both music and lyrics were employed in torture: the damaging effects of continuous, loud sound were coupled with the constantly repeated, humiliating, and highly ironic lyrics. “F” vividly recounts these effects: My ears still buzz “Ta paidia, ta paidia, ta filarakia ta kala” (The guys, the guys, the good buddies) from 100 radios. I don’t know how many radios played this little song of the time by Kinousis, “Ta Paidia, ta Paidia” (The Guys, the Guys) and “Tha pao sti zougla me ton Tarzan” (I’ll Go to the Jungle with Tarzan). . . . They were constantly the same songs. . . . Imagine to be standing for days without water, to be hit with truncheons and then to hear this music, what kind of a situation that made. You felt like going crazy. . . . In the end I had hallucinations. . . . And with all this, to hear this music . . .. When the torture time was up, they would play the song, “Paei ki o Stephanos, o kalos o anthropos” (Stefanos is Dead, the Good Man). For “F”, the choice of songs, in terms of the lyrics but also the order in which they were played, was no coincidence. Listening to them now makes him feel sad. The combination of “Tarzan” and “Stephanos” was also mentioned by another torture survivor, a student at the time, arrested in early May, 1973. He was tortured both at EAT/ESA and at ESA in the Nea Philadelphia region in Athens. What remains unclear with regard to this practice is who compiled the playlist, as it were. The fact that all the songs were popular hits of the time could suggest that this was the choice of the guards. These were young soldiers mostly in their early twenties, turned torturers through an equally brutal training based on similar principles of the torture later performed on their victims (Daraki-Mallet 1976; Haritos-Fatouros 2003; Pedersen and Stephensen 1976). In survivor testimony collected by the author, there are incidents

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where drunken soldiers returned to the headquarters at night and beat up detainees while singing “Tarzan” or other songs. Such incidents point to the fact that the choice of music may have been theirs. However, the idea of repeated music/sound most certainly came from their superiors, as did everything else that took place in the context of torture. The link between music/sound and this combination of interrogation methods is in fact made precisely by Giorgos Georgalas, one of the regime’s ideologues, in his 1967 book Propaganda (1967). His chapter on “brainwashing” describes in step-by-step fashion this particular combination of techniques employed at EAT/ESA, including “sharp sound” “transmitted” repeatedly (among other things) in order to “break” a detainee into confessing (Georgalas 1967: 200). The fact that Georgalas had taught these topics in Greek military academies9 underscores that repeated music was part of a systematic and carefully calculated torture procedure, and was not merely a way of masking the shouts of torture.10 To conclude, it is obvious that popular music was intrinsically linked to the Junta’s nexus of power, playing a significant role in its cultural politics. The ideologically framed folk music and its associations with national identity, pre-dating the Junta, were an ideal category for the Colonels to exploit. Indeed, it became the regime’s soundtrack, aesthetically supplementing the ideological discourse on national identity and continuity. The Junta, however, was by no means strict in the genres it supported. Different genres and cultural institutions were used in a systematic, calculated, and extensive manner for purposes of legitimation, manipulation, and propaganda. Telling is the example of the international “light song” competition: the Song Olympiad. Most disturbingly, popular music played an actual role within a context of repressive violence. The continuous blasting of songs in the detention center of the Athens-based EAT/ESA, combined with other interrogation techniques, is a practice that today has been defined as amounting to torture by international bodies (Papaeti 2013a: 80–81). The lack of debate and information on music’s role in torture practices – at least until very recent debates provoked by the “War on Terror” (Cusick 2008) – indicate how far the long-standing humanistic view of music has supported a general blindness to music’s undignified and abusive deployments. As this chapter has shown, music’s power to attack and damage subjectivity (in the context of detention and interrogation), and to support the manipulation of public opinion, was fully understood and realized by the Colonels’ regime. Acknowledgments This research was funded by a Marie-Curie Intra-European Fellowship (FP7). Notes 1

2

3 4 5

Dhimotiko traghoudi (folk-song) refers to folk-song styles developed in rural Greece during the Ottoman occupation. Elafry traghoudi (light song) is popular song attached to Western musical traditions (waltz, tango, mambo, etc.). It is seen in contrast to laiko traghoudi (urban popular song), which essentially developed out of rebetiko (see p. 143). This is not to suggest that there were no continuities in the history of Greek folk art and music. For instance, the documentary To Tragoudi tou Orfea. Laika Organa kai Choroi, also directed by N. Matsas and aired in 1976, uses a distinctively different language to discuss issues of continuity. The ideological interpretation of such continuities, rather, is what is at stake. For a discussion of Savvopoulos’ works vis-à-vis the Junta, see Papanikolaou (2007: 133–145). Private communication with the late Chronis Missios. Indicative is the ban on Theodorakis’ music on June 1, 1967 by the Army Decree No. 13. This stated that it was forbidden to “transmit in any way or form, [or] to perform the music and songs of the communist Mikis Theodorakis” (Anonyous 1967).

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For a detailed analysis on the transformation of rebetiko to a high popular genre, see Papanikolaou (2007: 62–99). Personal communications with scholars working on the dictatorship. For a fuller discussion of these and other testimonies see Papaeti (2013a: 71–79). Interview with “Z”, a democratic general detained, tortured, and exiled during the Junta. He had been taught by Georgalas during his military training. It is important to remember that the headquarters of EAT/ESA did not have any residences immediately adjacent to it; at one end was the park, and at the other a navy and a military hospital.

Bibliography Anonymous. 1963. Kubark Counterintelligence Interrogation. Available atwww.gwu.edu/~nsarchiv/NSAEBB/ NSAEBB122/#kubark (accessed December 3, 2013). Anonymous. 1967. “Ta Asmata tou M. Theodoraki Apoteloun Meson Syndesmou Metaxy ton Kommouniston. Apigorefthi i Metadosis ton.” Eleftheros Kosmos 2. Athens, June 2. Anonymous. 1968a. “I Ipovoli Tragoudion gia tin Olympiada.” Ta Nea 2. Athens, May 17. Anonymous. 1968b. “Proerchomenoi apo 17 Choras. 32 Kallitechnai tha Lavoun Meros stin Olympiada Tragoudiou.” Akropolis 2. Athens, July 17. Anonymous. 1968c. “I Olympiada Tragoudiou Simera sto Stadio.” Ta Nea. Athens, July 26. Anonymous. 1968d. “Oi Italoi Engomiazoun tin Olympiada.” To Vima. Athens, August 2. Anonymous. 1968e. “O Nikitis tis Olympiadas gia tin Ellada.” To Vima 2. Athens, August 10. Anonymous. 1977. “Poiniki Dioxi gia tin Organosi tis ‘Olympiadas Tragoudiou’ kata Panagiotaki kai G. Economidi.” To Vima. Athens, June 7. Benas, Takis. 2007. Tis Diktatorias: 1967–1974. Athens: Themelio. Cusick, Suzanne G. 2008.”‘You are in a Place out of the World’: Music in the Detention Camps of the ‘Global War on Terror.’” Journal of the Society for American Music 2: 1–27. Daraki-Mallet, Maria. 1976. Oi Esatzides. Athens: Kedros. Economou, Leonidas. 2019. “Sentiment, Memory, and Identity in Greek Laiko Music (1945–1967).” In Made in Greece. Studies in Greek Popular Music, ed. Dafni Tragaki. London and New York: Routledge. Georgalas, Georgios A. 1967. Propaganda. Methodos kai Techiniki Agogis ton Mazon. Athens: Georgiades. Giannaris, George. 1973. Mikis Theodorakis. Music and Social Change. London: George Allen & Unwin. Haritos-Fatouros, Mika. 2003. The Psychological Origins of Institutionalized Terror. London and New York: Routledge. Herzfeld, Michael. 1986. Ours ONCE More: Folklore, Ideology and the Making of Modern Greece. New York: Pella. Kallimopoulou, Eleni. 2009. Paradosiaká: Music, Meaning and Identity in Modern Greece. Farnham: Ashgate. Kallimopoulou, Eleni and Panagiotis C. Poulos. 2017. “Laiko.” In Encyclopedia of Popular Music of The World, Vol. XIII, Genres of European Origin, ed. John Shepherd, Dave Laingand, and David Horn. New York and London: Continuum. Kambanis, N. 1974. “Oi Chountikoi Giortazan to Pascha ap’ tin Paraskevi . . . Logo Tileoraseos.” Ta Nea 4. Athens, September 7. Konstas, Dimitris. 1976. I “Elliniki Ypothesi” sto Symvoulio tis Evropis1967-1969: Theoria kai Praktiki Politikis Pieseos apo Diethneis Organismous. Athens: Papazisis. Ladas, Ioannis. 1970. Logoi. Athens. Maglinis, Elias. 2008. I Anakrisi. Athens: Kedros. Makridis, Vyron. 1968. “I Olympias tou Tragoudiou Archizei Apopse eis to Stadion.” Akropolis 4. Athens, July 26. McCoy, Alfred W. 2006. A Question of Torture. CIA Interrogation. From the Cold War to the War on Terror. New York: Henry Holt. Nijboff, Martinus. 1972. Yearbook of the European Convention on Human Rights: The Greek Case (1969). The Hague: European Commission of Human Rights. Papaeti, Anna. 2013a. “Music, Torture, Testimony: Reopening the Case of the Greek Military Junta (1967–74).” In The World of Music (special issue): Music and Torture | Music and Punishment 2(1), guest eds M.J. Grant and Anna Papaeti, pp. 67–89. Papaeti, Anna. 2013b. “Music and Re-Education in Greek Prison Camps: From Makronisos (1947–1953) to Giaros (1967–1968).” In Torture: Journal on Rehabilitation of Torture Victims and Prevention of Torture: Special Thematic Issue ‘Music in Detention’ 23(2), guest eds Anna Papaeti and M.J. Grant, pp. 34–43. Papaeti, Anna. 2015. “Folk Music and the Cultural Politics of the Military Junta in Greece (1967–1974).” Mousikos Logos 2: 50–62. Papanikolaou, Dimitris. 2007. Singing Poets. Literature and Popular Music in France and Greece. London: Legenda. Papanikolaou, Dimitris. 2008. “Exceptionalism and Greek Cultural Studies.” Questioning Greek Exceptionalism. Available at.www.mod-langs.ox.ac.uk/files/exceptionalism/article2.html (accessed October 5, 2016). Papanikolaou, Dimitris. 2010. “‘Kanontas Kati Paradoxes Kiniseis’: O Politismos sta Chronia tis Diktatorias,” In I Stratiotiki Diktatoria 1967–1974, ed. Vangelis Karamanolakis. Athens: Ta Nea, pp. 175–196. Plevris, Constantinos. 1995 [1968]. Politiki Propaganda. Athens: Nea Thesis. Rodakis, Pericles, ed. 1976. Oi Dikes tis Chountas. Oi Dikes ton Vasaniston, Vol. 1. Athens: Democratic Times.

Popular Music and the Colonels (1967–1974) • 151 Spielmann, Dean. 2012. “Variations on an Original Theme. Music and Human Rights.” In Freedom of Expression: Essays in Honour of Nicolas Bratza, ed. Joseph Casadevall et al. Oisterwijk: Wolf Legal Publishers, pp. 363–381. Theodorakis, Mikis. 1974. Gia tin Elliniki Mousiki 1952–1961. Athens: Pleias. Tragaki, Dafni. 2005. “‘Humanizing the Masses:’ Enlightened Intellectuals and the Music of the People.” In The Mediterranean in Music. Critical Perspectives, Common Concerns, Cultural Differences, ed. D. Cooper and K. Dawe. Oxford: Scarecrow Press, pp. 49–75.

Audiovisual Sources Epikaira. 1967. “Synentefxi Typou tou Konferasie Giorgou Oikonomidi gia ti Diorganosi tis ‘Diethnous Olympiadas tis Melodias’ stin Athina.” Athens, October 21. Available at http://mam.avarchive.gr/portal/digitalview.jsp? get_ac_id=1131&thid=2003 (accessed June 29, 2014). Epikaira. 1968a. “Dexiosi pros Timin ton Tragoudiston kai Mousikon pou Lamvanoun Meros stin Proti Diethni Olympiada Tragoudiou apo tin Etaireia Philips sto Xenodocheio Megali Vretannia.” Athens, July 25. http://mam.avarchive.gr/portal/digitalview.jsp?get_ac_id=1199&thid=2597 (accessed June 29, 2014). Epikaira. 1968b. “H Proti Diethnis Olympiada Tragoudiou sto Panathinaiko Stadio.” Athens, July 26–28. Available at http://mam.avarchive.gr/portal/digitalview.jsp?get_ac_id=3793&thid=13766 (accessed June 29, 2014). Epikaira. 1968c. “Epistrofi tou Kallitechnikou Diefthinti tis Protis Diethnous Olympiadas Tragoudiou Giorgou Oikonomidi apo ti Romi stin Athina.” Athens, 7 October. Available at http://mam.avarchive.gr/portal/digitalview. jsp?get_ac_id=1205&thid=2670 (accessed June 29, 2014). Matsas, Nestor (Director). 1969. Choroi kai Foresies tou Topou mas (documentary). Athens. Available at http://mam.avarchive.gr/portal/digitalview.jsp?get_ac_id=4031 (accessed June 29, 2014). Matsas, Nestor (Director). 1976. To Tragoudi tou Orfea. Laika Organa kai Choroi (documentary). Athens. Available at http://mam.avarchive.gr/portal/digitalview.jsp?get_ac_id=3103&thid=14074 (accessed June 29, 2014).

Filmography Pedersen, Jørgen Flindt and Erik Stephensen (Directors). 1976. Your Neighbour’s Son. The Making of a Torturer (documentary film). Denmark: Facets.

Discography Hajdidakis, Manos. Epitafios. Fidelity Records, 0101 PR, 1961. Kinousis, Giorgos. Oloi tha Zisoume (Ta Paidia)/Ta Matia sou. Zodiac ZS 8297, 1973, 45rpm. Markopoulos, Yannis. Tarzan. Columbia Records, 1972, 45rpm. Moutsis, Dimos. Sinikismos A. Polygram/Olympic, SBL 1088, 1972. Theodorakis, Mikis. Epitafios. Columbia Records, 1961.

11 Popular Gypsy Musicians and the Political Economy of Affect in Contemporary Greece Aspasia (Sissie) Theodosiou

Introduction Musicality as a trait of Gypsy life (among others such as magical elements, sensuality, sexuality, nature, the road, etc.) has a long history dating back to the eleventh century and the Byzantine Empire, where Gypsies were renowned as public performers (Piotrowska 2013: 5). While such associations shadowed Gypsies as they traveled towards the rest of Europe, it was not until the end of the eighteenth century, as Piotrowska (2013: 7) among others has shown, that such a link was deemed as one of their inherent characteristics. Trumpener (1992: 849) has eloquently described how the process of Gypsies’ “literarization” has been central in the formation and institution of such a link. Within both literature and musical works, Gypsy musicians are depicted as inspired performers able to take people by storm with their musical qualities. Ever since, the association of Gypsies with music-making has developed so strongly that Silverman’s idea of the Roma being “powerless politically but powerful musically” (Silverman 1996: 231) seems to accurately depict the Roma’s plight and power in today’s Europe. Moreover, such an association is responsible for the wholesale identification of Gypsyness with musicianship; for in some places today, such as Greece, the words “Gypsy” and “musician” appear as synonymous (e.g. Blau et al. 2002). This chapter is the first attempt to explore the relationship between Gypsy musicians and popular music practices in contemporary Greece. Despite their huge popularity and significance, Gypsy popular musicians such as Kostas Chatzis and Manolis Angelopoulos, among others, have not figured prominently in the non-Greek ethnomusicological literature, nor in Greek (ethno)musicology and/or anthropology and cultural studies.1 Drawing upon evidence from media ethnography and long-term anthropological fieldwork among Gypsy folk/traditional musicians, the chapter suggests an alternative framework within which the popularity of these music celebrities and their significance may be more readily gauged. In examining the various articulations among Gypsy musical agents, their practices, and the notion of “popular music”, the chapter begins to reveal the various boundaries of the “popular” and its historical contingency in the Greek case, while also attempting to fill a substantial gap in the hegemonic historiographies of “Greek popular music”. Furthermore, the chapter elaborates upon the ways in which “value” is accrued to Gypsy popular musicians in different ways according to a series of complicated mediations among individual Gypsy performers, their Gypsy/Roma

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identity, and their ambiguous positioning in the Greek social milieu and cultural politics more generally. Gypsy Popular Musicians: Affective Legacies and Iconic Figures In my attempt to carve out a space for popular music beyond what has already been critiqued on the basis of its axiological dichotomy between high and low culture, its understanding as a bounded musical category or as a genre, or on affective grounds as being sentimental, I will turn my attention to the contemporary realities of the popular in the Greek case; in other words, to the way popular music works. In so doing I am interested in the contingent popularity of every kind of music while also being attentive to the inherently political act of naming something as popular (e.g. Tragaki 2013: 8). As an object of study, popular music practices in Greece exist in contradistinction – yet in close connection – to both the high culture associated with art music and the local music cultures linked to folk/traditional music. It is associated with a variety of media and technologies and shaped by the institutions and practices of the entertainment industry. Yet, it cannot be simply equated with the manipulative ideology to which the term “mass culture” usually alludes. Instead, following the suggestion of Hess which I fully endorse, I believe that popular music “implies a degree of volition and agency on behalf of both its creators and its consumers . . . membership in the category is determined by ‘the historical circumstances of [a given text’s] reception and appropriation’”(Hess 2003: 39). In this light my account about Gypsy popular musicians in Greece attempts to escape wellworn habits of narrating Greek music in terms of preliminary genre distinctions, such as folk/traditional, art, art-popular music, etc.2 In trying to reckon with Gypsy popular musicians, this account moves forward somewhat differently and considers the Gypsy folk music practitioner as the generic popular musician figure in Greece and perhaps in the Balkans more generally. For more than a century, Gypsy instrumentalists have been holding the virtual monopoly on supplying the music for weddings, baptisms, saints’ days, etc. in rural mainland Greece. In being able to address musically different groups, these instrument players define a common communicative flow of melody, drone, and rhythm so profound and so far beyond the limitations of languages, ideologies, and nation-states borders, that people of different ethnic backgrounds and generations can . . . eat, drink, dance and experience that joy or ecstasy the Greeks call kefi. (Blau et al. 2002: 102) Gypsies, by using their innate musical talents, manage to gain the trust of other social groups and to transgress social boundaries (Theodosiou 2015) while remaining as outsiders to guarantee that there is no competition with the revelers for status and kefi. But what is it that makes Gypsy practitioners stand out as performers? Mazaraki, in her study about the folk clarinet in Greece, points out that Gypsies with their acute musical instinct and passion stand out because of their wonderful sound and virtuosity (Mazaraki, quoted in Exarchos 2007: 88). Baud Bovy similarly states: The Greeks admired the musical genius of the Tsingani people; they have not enslaved them . . . yet, they considered them inferior. . . . In the beginning the Tsingani did not sing . . .

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when they started singing the local traditional songs, they changed their style . . . the mainstream listener will be enraptured by the Gypsy performance with its gaudy ornamentations. (Baud-Bovy 1984: 64) There are two critical positions that strike me as being important here: the first addresses Gypsy folk practitioners’ contribution in the music of rural mainland Greece and in the Balkans more generally. Being musicians who have variously slipped among ethnic groups, genres, locales, and even nation-states, they have been responsible for many mediations of musical styles, such as those between rural and urban settings, diverse ethnic groups, etc. (e.g. Silverman 2003). They have been playing a key role as unifiers of dispersed musical practices long before the era of mass reproducibility, thus constituting, I argue, the iconic figure of the popular musician. In this sense Hess’ point that membership in the category of popular music is established through the ways in which a popular culture product (i.e. a song) is received and appropriated, along with Stokes’ account of popular music as “a more inchoate category referring to a great variety of vernacular and mass mediated genres” (Stokes 2010,:15) allow us to understand the contingent popularity of all Gypsy folk/traditional musical practices. The second position is associated with the power of Gypsy musicians to charge an emotionally unmarked space with their own energy and passion (Malvinni 2004: 11; see also Mazaraki’s and Baud Bovy’s accounts). The association among Gypsy performers and feelings, passion, and sonic excitement has been prominent for more than a century in popular culture all around Europe (Theodosiou and Brazzabeni 2011). Following the more recent affective turn and its emphasis on the interlocking of feelings and politics (Staiger et al. 2010: 4), I turn my attention to the issue of the “affective legacy” of Gypsies’ musicalized history in my attempt to formulate what may be called “a political economy of affect”. In a way similar to Savigliano’s account about the political economy of passion, when considering the itineraries of tango dance, a “political economy of affect” seems to validate and even glorify Gypsy affect (Savigliano 1995): it emerges out of a fascination with but also fear of the Gypsy performer, and takes the form of a simultaneous desire to comprehend and own him as the other (ibid.). Simultaneously it depends on the continual marking of hierarchical differences between Gypsy performers and their non-Gypsy audience. Cvetkovich’s “public feelings” project, and more specifically her use of the term “affective legacy” in relation to “racialized histories of genocide, slavery, colonization, and migration” (Cvetkovich 2007: 464) is pertinent here. I suggest, however, overriding it in two critical ways: in the obvious sense that Gypsy musicians’ emotional capital points to a variety of affect meanings; in being simultaneously positively as well as negatively marked, Gypsy affective legacy revolves around the issue of passion. Ahmed’s observation that the words “passion” and “passive” share the same etymological root is significant here (Ahmed 2004: 2–3). But also in a much more complex sense; for my account here shifts to explore how Gypsies’ affective legacy is mobilized in diverse musical contexts to produce diverse Roma subjectivities. Multiculturalism and Roma Identity in Greece In establishing the representational contexts in which Gypsy life is enacted and experienced in Greece, Trubeta discusses the way in which academic works on Gypsies have entered Greek academia and the public sphere from Europe as early as the nineteenth century (Trubeta 2008: 49–51). Since that time, artistic accounts such as literary and cinematic forms or texts are filled

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in with the Gypsy image followed by its common associations with vagrancy and passion, the road and the caravan, sensuality and music. While supplying such a large volume of “metaphorical material for the arts” (Iordanova 2008: 307), Gypsy historical subjects outside the realms of poetry and arts have not suffered less, nonetheless; while reified as “essentially performers”, racism, hate speech, anti-Roma sentiment, and exclusionary geographies figure prominently in the Greek case. Taking a firm ethnographic approach in the Greek context, one quickly learns about the existence of different Gypsy groups. Central to the way in which Gypsy presence is experienced (both by Gypsies and non-Gypsies) is the distinction between Gifti, whose most direct English translation is “Gypsy”, and Tsingani. Greek Roma themselves are also “cognizant and overwhelmed by the huge variety of Romani experiences and characteristics within Greece itself” (Blau et al. 2002:143).3 For some this constitutes another reason why Roma activism rather eludes the Greek Roma, who passionately and unanimously, nonetheless, express their desire to be acknowledged as Greeks (Theodosiou 2011).4 A mere glance at the Greek mediascape insofar as it relates to “culture” is enough to show a focus on Gypsy cultural activities:5 Gypsy jazz groups are gaining in significant popularity, and staged events in prestigious halls are devoted to popular Gypsy musicians and singers. There is clearly an attempt to enunciate a political project: to provide an exciting arena for the promotion of Gypsy culture as a remedy to the everyday and institutional racism continuously experienced by Gypsies in Greece. Such a visibility of Gypsy culture and performers is not, however, unprecedented. Gypsies’ presence in the spectacular closing ceremony of the Athens Olympic Games in 2004 undoubtedly enunciated a different narrative of Greece: one that affirmed alternative identities and renewed national narratives that expanded the conceptual boundaries of the nation and its relation with others (Traganou 2010). Two elements are important here: first, the flourishing of Romani activism in Europe during the late 1980s,6 a development linked to the allocation of EU project funds aiming at improving the condition of Roma people in Greece. Second, the “emerging agenda of multiculturalism” (Yiakoumaki 2006) that has been forged in Greek official politics since the late 1990s and which also in the age of Greek prosperity took the form of liberal cosmopolitanism narratives. Against this background the existing Romani activism movement has had an extremely limited presence in the Greek public sphere. Furthermore, the degree to which it has managed to mobilize the separate groups of Gifti/Tsigani in a rather concerted way remains questionable. But what does it mean to take on the vocabularies of multiculturalism, tolerance, liberalism, and diversity when connected to certain affects or “structures of feelings” that are implicit to everyday forms of cultural expression? The production of Rom (1989), a Greek documentary about the lives of four Roma people, provides a key reference point.7 The film soundtrack, written by Nikos Kipourgos, a well-known composer, was an immediate success. Interestingly it included a song in the Romani language (“Rom”) which was performed by the young Tsinganos singer, Kostas Pavlidis. The documentary constituted the first systematic attempt to foreground the affective legacy of racism which Roma people face in Greek society, while the soundtrack reveals (even partly) the rich nuances and idiosyncracies of Romani lyrics (which are recorded for the first time).8 In so doing, it constitutes a “reparative reading” (Sedgwick, quoted in Chetkovitz 2007: 462) that is affectively driven, motivated by the attempt to introduce the Roma/Gypsy signifier, and directed towards the wider Greek public.

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Figure 11.1 Record cover of Rom by Nikos Kipourgos. Source: www.discogs.com/Νίκος-Κυπουργός-ROM/release/2730770.

In tracing the genealogy of what I have called “the gypsy brand” (Theodosiou 2013), the next production marketed through a reference to the Gypsy signifier is launched in 1996: Ellines Tsigani, a live recording that managed to extend its popularity outside Greece, features in the international market with different titles – Songs of Greece’s Gypsies, Gypsies in Greece.9 This production, as presented through an Amazon customer’s review, constitutes “an exceptional and rewarding introduction to the music of Greek Gypsies. Although their contribution has often been overlooked, their influence on Greek folk music is unquestionable.”10 This remarkable production features, among other less well-known musicians and singers, the names of popular celebrities such as Eleni Vitali, Vassilis Saleas, and Kostas Pavlidis.11 A year later (in 1990), Dionisis Tsaknis, a non-Gypsy musician, wrote “Balamos” (the outsider, the non-Gypsy in Romani). The song, written in mixed Romani and Greek, was an immediate success and has been performed by various well-known popular musicians, Gypsy and non-Gypsy alike, such as Eleni Vitali, Glykeria, Giorgos Dalaras, and Manolis Lidakis. This embrace of Roma/Gypsy signifier within the (Greek) music industry, nonetheless, points to a relatively insidious issue: on one level the irruption of the Gypsy brand opened up new possibilities for the appearance of new personal voices, such as Kostas Pavlidis. While his early career was shaped by his contribution in the Rom documentary discussed above, Pavlidis’ participation in the 1996 release Oi Dikoi mas Tsinganoi (Our Gypsies), as well as his most recent albums, compel his overt engagement with the category of Gypsyness.12 On yet another level, though, such works mainly target audiences abroad, but are cast in different terms for their internal audiences, an element already suggested by the LP’s different

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Figure 11.2 Record cover of Songs of Greece’s Gypsies. Source: https://itunes.apple.com/us/album/songs-of-greeces-gypsies/id265487978.

titles. This dual positioning, I argue, is very much linked to the historical process by which Gypsy musicians were included in the Greek nation-state project, mainly through serving the demands of an official “tradition” (Theodosiou 2007). In absorbing seemingly incompatible historical associations – between Gypsyness, traditional musicianship, national identity, and various senses of belonging – Gypsy popular musicians are cast internally almost exclusively through their musicianship, while their Gypsyness remains dissimulated but of course not erased. Behind such a model of an accruing self lurks, of course, the tendency of renowned popular Greek Roma artists who, in their public image, do not capitalize on their Gypsyness. Yet, this process remains outside the limits of cultural intelligibility when the same Gypsy popular musicians are sold in the global market. There is, nonetheless, another uneasy relationship that needs to be revealed here in relation to the “Gypsy brand”: the pertinent articulation between the Balkans and Gypsy music engendered by the post-socialist condition (e.g. Theodosiou 2013; Szeman 2009), and the rather limited Balkanism attributed to Greece (which is somehow activated as a symbolic discourse mainly in the case of northern Greece). This allows us to explain the relatively limited number of official record productions released in Greece that fall under the category/genre of “Gypsy music”, thus constituting it as a separate brand; it is worth noting here also that their distinctive marker is the use of Romani lyrics. Pavlidis’ recent albums fall squarely within this category. I will now move away from the issue of branding Gypsy music to investigate the ways in which “value” is accrued to two individual Gypsy popular singers, Kostas Chatzis and Manolis Angelopoulos, according to a series of complicated mediations among them, their Gypsy/Roma

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identity, and their positioning in the popular music business in postwar Greece. Such an investigation, moreover, poses complex questions from the point of view of Gypsies’ “affective legacy” discussed above. Although Chatzis and Angelopoulos are widely known as “Tsingani” singers, their image exemplifies the predicament of Gypsy musicianship more generally, insofar as it bears its central paradox: it is at once particular and taken for granted. Surely one can counterpose to these two cases a large number of popular musicians who tell the story of the wholesale identification of Gypsies with (folk/traditional) musicianship in (mainly mainland) Greece. The particularity/exclusivity of the cases examined here lies precisely in the singers’ investment in such a subject position (as Tsingani singers). If, as Hall argues about identification, “an effective suturing of the subject to a subject-position requires, not only that the subject is ‘hailed’, but that the subject invests in the position” (Hall 1996: 6), a recurring issue in their case is that they constitute perhaps the most vocal examples of popular subjects not just being hailed in the position of being Gypsy (by virtue of being musicians), but being openly and wholeheartedly self-identified as Gypsy singers. Kostas Chatzis: Singing for Social Justice (b. 1936) Even if I lose my voice, I will be singing in my heart for those same things until I leave this world.13 Kostas Chatzis is a popular troubadour with a long musical career. Born in 1936 to a musical Gypsy family,14 he is considered to be “the greatest Rom artist in Greece” (Dousas 2001: 187), and more generally as one of the most prominent composers and singers in the Greek social song genre. With his guitar, he has been singing ballads about the urgency of social solidarity, human rights, and love. During his early career in Athens he was reluctant to assert his Tsinganos identity, and instead portrayed himself as a Brazilian or Spanish artist (Dousas 2001: 187). Yet, as he states, his Gypsy origins had planted in him asensitivity towards social justice. “I’ve been writing this kind of ballad since 1956. . . . The main reason is that I belonged to a minority and I felt that for the first time, when I went to school.”15 After he had settled in Athens (1957), he gradually started recording in the mid-1960s with the New Wave movement (neo kyma) in Greek music.16 He worked with the great composers of the time (Theodorakis, Hadjidakis, Markopoulos, etc.) and performed in charismatic duets with well-known singers such as Marinela, a popular singer of high standing.17 The triple LP album Recital, which was named after their first live performance, was launched in 1976 and has been one of the most successful albums in Greek music history. The main album lyricist, Sofia Tsotou, talks about the unusual artistic pair: He is a dusky bard, who expresses the bitterness and indignation of the proletariat, of the injured people. . . . She is the blond sensitive performer of love and art popular songs, the dear one of the establishment and upper classes. An incompatible match. And yet, the one infiltrated the world of the other.18 Papanikolaou’s argument that in Greece the period after 1945 constituted a period of “intense negotiation of ideas about popular culture, especially popular music, culminating in the shaping

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Figure 11.3 Record cover of Recital. Source: www.public.gr/product/music/greek-music/entehna/resital/prod111283/.

of national popular music and the space of the high-popular”, is of paramount importance here for unraveling the intricacies of Chatzis’ project (Papanikolaou 2007: 101). For it provides a great example of an artist engaging with the socio-political context of the 1960s, while also struggling to affirm his position in the cultural politics of the period. His cooperation with the great composers of the day has certainly allowed him to occupy the space of the high popular, and yet to follow gradually the complementary aesthetics of the Neo Kyma movement, insofar as the latter was “intellectual but also anti-bouzouki” (ibid.: 118). Precisely in being able to forge such links, Chatzis’ positioning clearly sets him apart from the historical predicament of Roma musicians (their role as traditional musicians). In operating within this framework, Chatzis’ original contribution lies, nonetheless, in his ability to bring together the larger context of the socio-political events of the day with his personal marginality; in his ability to mesmerize a boîte audience and to establish an emotional rapport with it through his performance of suffering. He profoundly distrusts any system – social, economic, or religious – and eloquently expresses this in his ballads, starting from the position of his plight as a Gypsy (Dousas 2001: 194). In his performances, racism and inequality retain their associations with despair, but also become “sites of publicity and community formation” (Chetkovitz 2012: 2), foregrounding the “educational potential” of his music project. This somehow habitual knowledge of Chatzis’ musicianship allows us to understand the critical acclaim that prevails in the YouTube commentary of his songs. Consider, for example, the following comment: “If people listened to Chatzis once per day . . . our society would have been much better”, or “Chatzis, keep our spirit up and educate us with your songs”.19

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In Chatzis’ words, the social tale his songs have to tell are deemed much more important than music: “I have written music that serves my words.”20 Yet, interestingly enough, following Frith’s suggestion, Chatzis’ “biography is used less to explain composition (the writing of the song) than expression (its performance), and when musicians are both [composers and interpreters], it is the performing rather than the composing voice that is taken to be the key character” (Frith 1998: 185). “I sing like this because I am a Gypsy”, says Chatzis. The emotional dynamics of his “strange” and “unmelodic” voice come to embody his personal suffering as a marginal, as a Gypsy, as a victim of racism. Frith’s penetrating analysis about the popular singer’s voice is also pertinent here: As listeners we assume that we can hear someone’s life in their voice – a life that’s there despite and not because of the singer’s craft, a voice that says who they really are, an art that only exists because of what they’ve suffered. (Frith 1998: 185–186) If “the physical grain of the voice has a fundamentally social life . . . speech and song intertwine to produce timbral socialities” (Feld et al. 2004: 341), then reading Chatzis’ voice in this respect registers subordinate experiences, communal suffering, and Gypsy marginality. Gypsyness thus becomes a positive signifier, yet stands askew relative to the affective legacy of racism. Manolis Angelopoulos (1939–1989): The Tsinganos King Manolis despite being a Tsinganos singer, had a great career. He has been one of the best Greek singers ever. . . . His main complaint was that he did not appear on TV. For all those people Manolis was the Gypsy. (Karaiskos 2001: 117) Angelopoulos, born of Gypsy heritage in Kavala (Northeastern Greece), was a celebrity singer who achieved fame in the 1960s and 1970s. His first big break in the recording business happened when he was only 17 years old, and he was soon considered to be the main rival of Stelios Kazantzidis.21 It was the era – the end of the 1950s – when the plots of the Hindi movies echoed the suffering Greek psyche (Abatzi and Tasoulas 1998), and Greek record producers were looking for singers who could sing in the Eastern style. Angelopoulos was a master in the Arabic style. As he put it: “The arabic style started from me . . . I am a Tsinganos and singing runs in my blood . . . I don’t mind if they call me the Giftos. . . . People say ‘let’s go to the Gftos who has a great voice and looks’” (Karaiskos 2001: 134). Marshall points out that “style represents a statement of difference as well as a statement of solidarity with a particular audience” (Marshall 1997: 162). Popular music stars of the past conformed to this by managing simultaneously to convey both their commitment to a style or a norm, but also to add a creative difference (Toynbee 2000: x). As one sifts through the press clippings of the 1970s, the “Tsinganos Lord” appears to dominate the press and is deemed an iconic popular music figure: being a loyal member of the Tsingani community, and a stereotypical Gypsy figure – with regard to his physical appearance and his machismo (large moustache, black suit) – he assiduously cultivated an image of respectability and decency. His radical interracial marriage with the blonde non-Gypsy singer Annula Vasiliou portrayed him as the “Knight of real love” and undoubtedly catapulted him into stardom.22

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A hallmark in his career – and an event of great importance for the musical scene of postdictatorship Greece – were his concerts in the Lycabettus open theater in 1983 (June 19–20) organized by the music magazine Defi. An episode from a television series called The Time Machine features the reception of Angelopoulos’ concerts by the mainstream media of the time.23 Giorgos Lianis, a journalist for the Ta Nea newspaper, wrote: How and from where have these new sponsors of our popular song sprung? These who hit the tambourine and the entirety of Greece dances tsifteteli? These who crowned the head of Gypsies Manolis Angelopoulos, as the king of the contemporary avant-garde in popular song. (Karaiskos 2001: x–xi) The reply came in the form of a column in Defi magazine entitled: “What happened in Lycabettus: Turkogifti [Turkish Gypsies], Tsifteteli dancers, amanes singers, communists and other enemies of the country.” I read: [W]e have stated many times that popular songs are a continuation of folk and rebetiko songs. What happens in popular songs . . . has depth, density, “authenticity”, if you like, that does not exist in other types of Greek song. The head of Gypsies, Angelopoulos is a top class singer who performs the same repertoire as Kazantzidis. . . . This discussion about Gypsies should come to an end: the most important musicians in Greece have been (and are) Gypsies. (Karaiskos 2001: x) Accounts of the 1983 Lycabettus concerts are indeed shrouded in dense layers of mythology and attest to an uncommonly vibrant public life. No doubt such a controversy points partly to a moment of musical transformation in Greece: a moment of shifting cultural hierarchies and anxieties about the “Eastern” part of the Greek heritage (Kallimopoulou 2009). A complex set of changes accompany this shift, since it was a moment of social, political, and cultural transformation marked by the Socialist Party’s promotion of “popular culture” as a force that can hold together even a diverse society (Gefou-Madianou 1999). Frith’s suggestion that “part of the pleasure of popular culture is talking about it; part of its meaning is this talk, talk which is run through with value judgments” (Frith 1998: 4) seems particularly apt here. He continues to argue that when bad music is talked about, it is clear that the music itself is not really the issue but rather how the music, which we might like under other circumstances, is used by who for what purpose. “Bad music”, in other words, always involves a conflict of control and values (not to mention acoustic territory) and identifies the individual decrying that music a socially active. (Frith 1998: 332) Reading against the grain of such a conceptualization, I will focus on the aesthetic dismissal of Angelopoulos in his Lycabettus performance. While regarding it as a way of staking claims in what may be called “a political economy of affect”, it is important, nonetheless, to link it to Angelopoulos’ marginality and the contradictions and tensions that lie within it. Angelopoulos did indeed feature a distinct performance style. His songs encompass an ever-present feeling of melancholy and of nostalgia for the past, while also articulating the joy and pain of being a Gypsy. He exhibited a technical mastery in injecting crying (klama) into his voice, an element that allowed him to evoke a range of feelings in his followers and to generate an emotional

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exchange with them (Karaiskos 2001), to such an extent that one can even talk about a “surplus of affect” (Stokes 2003: 320). Yet, such a state of emotional warmth, committed as it is “to the democratic (love knows no bounds)” and affiliated “with forms of mass media circulation” (ibid.: 309), was misrecognized by the cultural elites of the day (e.g. those expressed through Lianis’ text in Nea newspaper): being wedded to the idea of Greek modernity, cultural elites of the day were implacably hostile to the “superabundance” of sentimentalism identified with the East (ibid.). Issues of distribution in the political economy of affect have, nonetheless, never been settled. Such Easterness, with its appeal to “authenticity” (e.g. Angelopoulos’ Gypsy identity), becomes intimate and familiar (Gypsies as our internal “others”) even for the cultural elites when located in the “right” place: the popular venues of Omonia Square, where people danced to Angelopoulos’ tsifteteli tunes. Yet, the shifting of location of the “Omonia sound” to the well-respected and symbolically loaded Lycabettus theater was deemed “a matter out of place” for the high-end audience which disapproved of popular styles and performers (musicians and actors) being featured at such venues. Angelopoulos’ boisterous performance accounts for a transformation in Greek social and cultural life; a transformation emblematically expressed through a move from the sociological to the aesthetic and back again: the audience, representing a mixed constituency, which included large sections of the middle class, stood up and danced tsifteteli, and Angelopoulos’ passionate Arab-influenced amanes performance24 worked as a catalyst for including sentimentalism and populism into the conventional middle-class concert aesthetic (Attali 1985). Angelopoulos’ aesthetic dismissal, although obviously connected to his origins, provides an interesting conundrum of the kind of models that would assign him, unproblematically, to the margins. Gypsies’ “affective legacy” is mobilized in his case in an exemplary way. It constitutes a vantage point on the main mechanism at work in manufacturing a reputation in the world of Greek nightclub superstardom, namely being an affective, sentimental performer. Yet such a reputation contained within it some illuminating tensions: it was this surplus of sentimentalism that would enrage the cultural elites of the day and lead to his aesthetic dismissal. Angelopoulos’ death in 1989 evoked unprecedented national mourning and represented a moment of transformation in his reception, as his influence began to spread throughout Greece. In the years immediately following his death, the Fiesta record company released three volumes of self-titled albums that comprised his early recordings. On the tenth anniversary of his death in 1999 a nationally broadcast television show honored his contribution to Greek music. Conclusion Obviously, anyone trying to explain what certain artists have achieved will certainly need to launch the configuration, at the moment, and at the various critical turning points in each career, of the space of available possibilities (in particular, the economic and symbolic hierarchy of the genres, schools, styles, manners, subjects etc.), the social value attached to each of them, and also the meaning and value they received for the different agents or classes of agents in terms of the socially constituted categories of perception and appreciation they applied to them. (Bourdieu 1993: 65)

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While it is not my intention to engage fully with all the above issues and their specific historical grounding, I have tried to explore here, admittedly in a rather sketchy way, the complex conjunction of the social/political, the affective and the performative in two relatively exemplary cases of Gypsy popular musicians in Greece. In focusing on the way in which Gypsies’ affective legacy, as historically constructed and promoted through a web of performances (discursive and embodied), is mobilized in specific contexts, my aim has been to explore how “structures of feeling” (Williams 1977) work together with broader identity issues, and are embedded in, while also constituting, “a political economy of affect”. In the game of unveiling their Gypsyness as a fundamental component of their popular musical practices, Chatzis and Angelopoulos constitute quite exemplary cases. Long before the most recent shifts towards establishing “the Gypsy brand”, and mobilizing Gypsyness as an intelligible resource for grounding a musical career, the case of the two popular Gypsy singers prompts us to re-examine their positioning in relation to Gypsies’ “affective legacy”. Chatzis’ popularity is underpinned by a reappraisal of the racialized experience of Gypsyness and the reframing of its political and social relevance. In being a Gypsy himself, his music “rightfully” embraces a social project in which that racism is both affirmed and negated simultaneously. Angelopoulos’ case is exemplary for the way it is placed within the political economy of affect. Coming to represent a surplus of sentiment, he glorifies the Gypsy affect while simultaneously being dependent on the hierarchical differences between him and his non-Gypsy audience. Notes 1 2 3 4 5 6 7 8 9 10 11 12 13 14 15 16 17 18 19

As in the case of other European countries, the existing ethnographic research on music practices focuses mainly on traditional/folk Gypsy musicians (Blau et.al. 2002; Theodosiou 2011). Academic research about Greek music underpinned by political considerations and aesthetic sensibilities has focused on art and/or folk/traditional music, whereas popular music has consistently eluded scholarly appraisal. Gypsies in Greece comprise a heterogeneous population in terms of historical development (i.e. time of arrival in Greece), language, religion, way of life (i.e. peripatetic, sedentary, etc.), social status, and social integration (e.g. Kozaitis 1997; Vaxevanoglou 2001). The term “Roma”, while seen as a politically correct term especially after its promotion by EU policies, has a very limited use in Greece. The word “Tsingani” continues to be the main term used in relation to the various Roma groups. Event titles encountered in press clippings: Opre Roma = Up, Gypsy; Tsingani in the Byzantine Museum; A Colorful festival at the ancient theater; Tsingani at the (Athens) Concert Hall. See Vermeersch (2005) for a detailed discussion of Romani activism in Central Europe and the strategic use of the term “Roma”. Papazoglou and Rasoulis’, I Ekdikisi tis Giftias (1978), while not discussed here, is noteworthy for its metaphorical reference to Gypsyness (Iordanova 2008). The strategic use of the term “Rom” is noteworthy here. www.amazon.com/s/ref=nb_sb_noss_2?url=search-alias%3Dpopular&field-keywords=gypsies%2C+greece&ajr= 2&ajr=2 (accessed January, 2015). www.amazon.com/Songs-Greeces-Gypsies-Various-Artists/dp/B004LB69O0/ref=sr_1_1?s=music&ie=UTF8&qid= 1411085498&sr=1-1&keywords=gypsies%2C+greece (accessed January, 2015). Interestingly, the album cover depicts a tent and a happy child’s face. See Pasqualino (2008) for a discussion of the cinematic myth of Gypsies being poor but happy. Songs of a Greek Gypsy (2007); The Rom of Fire (Vol. 1): The Wandering (2011); Sar Penen (2011). The record covers exhibit obvious visual references to a stereotypical view of Gypsyness. www.alexandroshatzis.com/biography_kh_en.html (accessed January, 2015). His grandfather was a clarinet player and his father was a virtuoso on the santouri (hammered dulcimer). www.alexandroshatzis.com/biography_kh_en.html (accessed January, 2015). See Papanikolaou (2007: 114) and Kornetis (forthcoming). For two consecutive summers (2013 and 2014), the show again brought together on stage after many years the Tsinganos and the Lady. Available at www.tovima.gr/culture/article/?aid=610018 (accessed January, 2015). www.tovima.gr/culture/article/?aid=610018 (accessed January, 2015). www.youtube.com/watch?v=pR240P9z5Zw&index=2&list=PL6D140C286D296566 (accessed January, 2015).

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http://nikosth.blog.com/2009/01/31/κώστας-χατζής-ενας-διαφορετικός-καλλ/ (accessed January, 2015). See also www.culturenow.gr/14927/kwstas-xatzis-lew-pragmata-pou-exoun-mesa-tin-elpida-alla-kai-i-kataggelia-mouenexei-tin-elpida (accessed January, 2015). See www.sansimera.gr/biographies/808#ixzz3AJXsy8sr (accessed January, 2015). See also Frangoulidou (2013). www.youtube.com/watch?v=QwZFx6tle3I (accessed January, 2015). www.youtube.com/watch?v=Uk4YhTki03A (accessed January, 2015).

Biblography Abatzi, Eleni and Tasoulas, Manouil. 1998. Indoprepon Apokalipsi: apo tin India tou Exotismou sti Laiki Mousa ton Ellinon. Perivolaki and Atrapos. Ahmed, Sarah. 2004. The Cultural Politics of Emotions. New York: Routledge. Attali, Jacques. 1985. Noise. The Political Economy of Music. Manchester: Manchester University Press. Baud-Bovy, Samuel. 1984. Dokimio gia to Elliniko Dimotiko Tragoudi. Nafplio: Peloponisiako Laografiko Idrima. Blau, Dick, Keil, Charles, Vellou Keil, Angeliki, and Feld, Steven. 2002. Bright Balkan Morning: Romani Lives and the Power of Music in Greek Macedonia. Middletown, CT: Wesleyan University Press. Bourdieu, Pierre. 1993. The Field of Cultural Production. Cambridge: Polity Press. Chetkovitz, Ann. 2012. Depression: A Public Feeling. Durham, NC: Duke University Press. Cvetkovich, Ann. 2007. “Public Feelings.” South Atlantic Quarterly 106(3): 459–468. Dousas, Dimitris. 2001. Rom kai Mousikos Kosmos. Athens: Typothito. Exarchos, Giorgos. 2007. Aftiine i Tsingani. Athens: Nefeli. Feld, Steven, Fox, Aaron, Porcello, Thomas, and Samuels, David. 2004. “Vocal Anthropology: From the Music of Language to the Language of Song.” In A Companion to Linguistic Anthropology, ed. Alessandro Duranti. Oxford: Blackwell, pp. 32–45. Frangoulidou, Fenia. 2013. “Using New Media in Teaching Greek Roma Students.” CLC Web: Comparative Literature and Culture 15(3). Available at http://dx.doi.org/10.7771/1481-4374.2246 (accessed January, 2015). Frith, Simon. 1998. Performing Rites: On the Value of Popular Music. Cambridge, MA: Harvard University Press. Gefou-Madianou, Dimitra. 1999. “Cultural Polyphony and Identity Formation: Negotiating Tradition in Attica.” American Ethnologist 26(2):412–439. Hall, Stewart. 1996. “Introduction: Who Needs Identity?” In Questions of Cultural Identity, ed. S. Hall and P. de Gay. London: Sage, pp. 1–17. Hess, Franklin. 2003. “Close Encounters of the Common Kind: The Theoretical and Practical Implications of Popular Culture for Modern Greek Studies.” Journal of Modern Greek Studies 21(1): 37–66. Iordanova, Dina. 2008. “Mimicry and Plagiarism.” Third Text 22(3): 305–310. Kallimopoulou, Eleni. 2009. Paradosiaka: Music, Meaning and Identity in Modern Greece. London: Ashgate. Karaiskos, Tasos. 2001. Manolis Angelopoulos: O Megalos Tsinganos. Athens: Atrapos. Kornetis, Kostis. forthcoming. “Neo Kyma.” In The Continuum Encyclopedia of Popular Music. Kozaitis, Kathryn. 1997. “‘Foreigners among Foreigners’: Social Organization Among the Roma of Athens, Greece.” Urban Anthropology 26(2): 165–199. Malvinni, David. 2004. The Gypsy Caravan: From Real to Imaginary Gypsies in Western Music and Film. London: Routledge. Marshall, David. 1997. Celebrity and Power. Fame in Contemporary Culture. Minneapolis: Minnesota University Press. Papanikolaou, Dimitris. 2007. Singing Poets. Literature and Popular Music in France and Greece. London: Legenda. Pasqualino, Catarina. 2008. “The Gypsies, Poor but Happy: A Cinematic Myth.” Third Text 22(3): 337–345. Piotrowska, Anna. 2013. Gypsy Music in European Culture: From the Late Eighteenth to the Early Twentieth Centuries (Guy R. Torr, trans.). Boston, MA: Northeastern University Press. Savigliano, Marta. 1995. Tango and the Political Economy of Passion. Boulder, CO: Westview Press. Silverman, Carol. 1996. “Music and Marginality: Roma (Gypsies) of Bulgaria and Macedonia.” In Retuning Culture: Musical Changes in Central and Eastern Europe, ed. M. Slobin. Durham, NC: Durham University Press, pp. 231–253. Silverman, Carol. 2003. “Rom (Gypsy) Music.” In The Garland Encyclopedia of World Music. Europe (Vol. 8), ed. T. Rice, J. Porter, and C. Goertzen. London: Garland Publishing, pp. 270–293. Staiger, Janet, Cvetkovich, Ann, and Reynolds, Ann. 2010. Political Emotions: New Agendas in Communication. Texas: The University of Texas at Austin. Stokes, Martin. 2003. “The Tearful Public Sphere: Turkey’s ‘Sun of Art’ ZekiMuren.” In Music and Gender: Perspectives from the Mediterranean, ed. T. Magrini. Chicago, IL: Chicago University Press, pp. 307–328. Stokes, Martin. 2010. The Republic of Love: Cultural Intimacy in Turkish Popular Music. Chicago, IL: Chicago University Press. Szeman, Ioana. 2009. “Gypsy Music and Deejays: Orientalism, Balkanism, and Romani Musicians.” TDR: The Drama Review 53(3): 98–116. Theodosiou, Aspasia. 2007. “Disorienting Rhythms: Gypsyness, ‘Authenticity’ and Place on the Greek–Albanian Border.” History and Anthropology 18(2): 153–176.

166 • Aspasia Theodosiou Theodosiou, Aspasia. 2011. Authenticity, Ambiguity, Location: Gypsy Musicians on the Greek Albanian Border. Leipsig: VDM Verlang Dr Mueller. Theodosiou, Aspasia. 2013. “Fantasia Repertoire. Alaturka, Arabesk and Gypsy Musicians in Epirus, Greece.” In Ottoman Intimacies, Balkan Musical Realities, ed. R.P. Pennanen, P. Poulos, and A. Theodosiou. Athens: Finnish Institute of Athens, pp. 135–156. Theodosiou, Aspasia. 2015 “Margnalité et liminalité: interprétation musicale et appartenence des Tsiganes/Roms.” Etudes Tsiganes 54/55: 52–75. Theodosiou, Aspasia and Brazzabeni, Micol. 2011. “Introduction.” In Etudes Tsiganes. Special Issue on Emotion and Place: A Gypsy/Roma Account 44/45: 5–21 (in French); 156–171 (in English). Toynbee, Jason. 2000. Making Popular Music: Musicians, Creativity and Institutions. London: Bloomsbury. Tragaki, Dafni (ed.). 2013. Empire of Song: Europe and Nation in the Eurovision Song Contest. Lanham, MD: Scarecrow Press. Traganou, Jilly. 2010. “National Narratives in the Opening and Closing Ceremonies of the Athens 2004 Olympic Games.” Journal of Sport and Social Issues 34(2): 236–251. Trubeta, Sevasti. 2008. I Roma sto Sinchrono Elliniko Kratos. Athens: Kritiki. Trumpener, Katie. 1992. “The Time of the Gypsies. A ‘People without History’ in the Narratives of the West.” Critical Inquiry 18(4): 843–884. Vaxevanoglou, Aliki. 2001. I Elines Tsingani: Periferiaki i Ikogeniarches? Athens: Alexandria Press. Vermeersch, Peter. 2005. “Marginality, Advocacy, and the Ambiguities of Multiculturalism: Notes on Romani Activism in Central Europe.” Identities: Global Studies in Culture and Power 12: 451–478. Williams, Raymond. 1977. Marxism and Literature. Oxford: Oxford University Press. Yiakoumaki, Vassiliki. 2006. “Ethnic Turks and ‘Muslims’, and the Performance of Multiculturalism: The Case of the Dromeno of Thrace.” South European Society & Politics 11(2): 145–161.

Filmography Karamangiolis, Menelaos (Director). Rom. ET1, 1989.

Discography Kipourgos, Nikos. Rom. Sirios Records SMH 89015-MBI, 1989, Vinyl. Papazoglou, Nikos and Rasoulis, Manolis. I Ekdkisi tis Giftias. Lyra 3308,1978, Vinyl. Pavlidis Kostas. Songs of a Greek Gypsy. Arc Music, 1672, 2001, compact disc. Pavlidis, Kostas. Sar Penen. FM Records, 1575, 2003, compact disc. Pavlidis, Kostas. The Rom of fire: The Wandering. FM Records, 1240, 2011, compact disc. Various Artists. I Dikoi mas Tsinganoi. FM Records, 5201364703223, 1996 compact disc.

12 “Lëviz Mo La!”1 Albanian Rap Music Made in Athens2 Lambrini Styliou

In 2008 six young men of Albanian origin who lived in the city of Athens came together and formed the rap music collective Da New Chain.3 Andy V., Blero, Doza, Aroganti, P.K., and Tani V., born between 1985 and 1991 in cities and villages of south Albania, migrated to Greece together with their parental family or in order to reunite with some of its members, usually the father, being already in Greece. Only Blero, who was the last one to leave his country, migrated alone. Doza, the youngest, and Aroganti, the oldest, crossed the borders of Albania for the first time in 1993. For Aroganti, however, his was a very short stay in Greece; a few months later his family sent him back to his home village, where he stayed with his grandmother until 1997. After four years, his parents decided to take him with them in Athens. The other four men migrated to Greece at the turn of the twenty-first century. They all settled in Athens, and in the same neighborhood. Following a common way of life and carving similar everyday “routes” made it easy for them to meet and become friends. During their adolescence they spent most of their time hanging out in the neighborhood’s squares and parks or, as they state, në rrugë (in the streets). Because of their parents’ long and exhausting working hours, it was easy for these youngsters to wander around all day unsupervised. Family and kinship relations were also important factors in meeting each other. At the end of 2009, Chainsat decided to rent an old house in the neighborhood, and turn it into a recording studio. The studio was named B.A.V. Records after Blero and Andy V., and started to produce recorded rap music for members of the group as well as for other rappers in paid service. Within the following two years, Chainsat released six solo albums and three albums under the group’s common label, and uploaded many other tracks produced independently on YouTube. Furthermore, during the same period they performed at many concerts held in clubs and open spaces in the context of different kinds of events, festivals, and shows. Things seemed to be going quite well for the group when, at the end of 2011, an unexpected event upset their plans and forced them to redesign their and the group’s future. In a routine police control, Blero, who had entered the country illegally and had not up until that moment managed to gain a residence permit, was arrested and deported to Albania. He was moreover prohibited from entering Greece for the next five years because he had violated Greek immigration law. Although he could have tried to migrate once more illegally to Greece, he decided instead to settle in Vlorë, his home city in Albania, and set up a new recording studio there, named B.A.V. Records Vlorë. All equipment needed for the new studio (PCs, microphones, furniture) was transferred from Greece to Albania and a professional collaboration between the two began. The instrumental tracks, which were usually produced in Athens, were sent through the internet

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to Vlorë to be “sold” to local rappers there, who would then record their vocal parts and send them once more to Athens for the final recording of the sound. After this, the final track was sent one last time to Vlorë to be delivered to its “customer”. In this way transnationalism served as an alternative mode of production against restrictions imposed by migration policy. In 2012, a new twist caused a sudden “break” in the group’s route, forcing once more a rearrangement of their plans. Greece was already experiencing a huge economic crisis. Jobs were hard to find, profits earned through studios fell dramatically, and optimism was waning. Under these circumstances, and the influence of a general trend of repatriation for many Albanian migrants living in Greece, three more Chainsat members decided to leave Athens and return, or actually migrate once more, to Albania. The recording studio “migrated” with them and was set up in Tirana, changing its name to B.A.V Records Tiranë, and aspiring to bring change in the Albanian musical industry of rap. Tricia Rose discusses the concepts of “flow and ruptures in line” as two of the main elements of hip-hop aesthetics and its stylistic composition (Rose 1994a). Rose clarifies their role in hiphop, both as a musical genre and as a culture, claiming: “In hip-hop, visual, physical, musical, and lyrical lines are set in motion, broken abruptly with sharp angular breaks, yet they sustain motion and energy through fluidity and flow” (ibid.: 81). Likewise, a talented rapper is able to move skillfully between a smooth line connected to the beat that the DJ creates, and to accelerate, slow down, or change the rhythm of his “flow” both within and in contrast to the beat. She argues that this rhythmic flow and continuity built into music ruptures can suggest affirmative ways for dealing with and even contesting social dislocation and rupture. Moving, thus, from the level of musical aesthetics to the construction of cultural and social meanings, hip-hop’s message suggests that: “when these ruptures occur, use them in creative ways which will prepare you for a future in which survival will demand a sudden shift in ground tactics” (ibid.: 82). Chainsat’s individual “biographies” as well as that of their rap project seem to comprise a combination of movement and ruptures, reflecting social conditions of crisis, transition, and dislocation. Drawing upon this and enacting the rap stylistic aesthetics of flow-in-rupture as part of their identity, Da New Chain’s practice and narrative show a direct analogy between the aesthetics and performance of rap music and the performance or poetics of identity. Within this context, this chapter will focus on the local manifestations of such an identity by grounding my analysis in the native term lëvizje, a concept signifying movement in space but also a condition of vigilance, action, and change. Albanian Rap in Greece: Local Specificities In 2001, the supplement of the Greek Sunday newspaper Eleftherotypia published a cover photo of the rap group 2Die4 under the title Alvaniko rap stin Athina (Albanian rap in Athens): three young boys dressed in baggy clothes, sitting in front of a graffiti wall, were posing for the lens in a typical rap posture. A few months earlier the group had released its first album entitled Jetës Sonë (Our Lives), which had already become a huge success among Albanians both in Greece, the group’s country of residence, and in Albania. The three young rappers had followed similar trajectories with thousands of their compatriots, leaving their country and migrating to Greece during the 1990s. After the fall of the communist regime in 1991 in Albania and the end of the country’s self-imposed isolation, migration became for most Albanians a way to deal with the enormous economic problems, as well as the answer to a general wish for change. The proximity of Greece and the slackening of the border controls

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by both the Greek and Albanian sides turned Greece into the main destination for the majority of Albanian migrants. According to the 2001 Greek census, 56 percent of migrants living in the country were Albanians (Baldwin-Edwards 2004). The sudden “massive influx”4 of migrants in the 1990s into a country with no previous experience and lacking any serious immigration policy raised issues of national identity, xenophobia, and racism, and generated various conflicts in Greek society, both in terms of discourse and practice. Albanians, being by far the largest immigrant group, were the main targets of the discriminatory and racist discourses and attitudes adopted and reproduced at the political level, in the media, and also by part of Greek society. The two regularization programs for undocumented migrants in 1998 and 2001 seemed to partially defuse the social tension, and helped Albanian migrants “come out” and claim a more “regular” life. In the same decade, in witnessing the transformation of Greece into an immigration country, the first Greek rap groups were formed, inaugurating a local scene that remains active and thriving up until today.5 As in many other countries, rap music and hip-hop culture became popular in Greece through the media and the global music and film industries. In commercial terms the 1990s were the scene’s golden era. The first Greek representatives started to become widely known, while their albums – released independently or via large record companies – sold thousands of copies. During the same period radio stations started to air the first rap shows. Almost in parallel, in around the mid-1990s, the first rap rhymes in Albanian language emerged. Although there are no official accounts, the pioneers are said to be Albanians of Kosovo. The first groups to be formed became quite popular among youngsters in Albania, but also in countries of migrants’ settlement, like Greece or Italy. The music scene of Kosovo has continued to thrive and grow to this day, while most of the music products consumed in Albania are produced there.6 Due to the special political conditions in the region in the 1990s, music production centered around a relatively nationalist patriotic discourse.7 The same was true for the hip-hop produced locally by young Kosovars.8 From its birth in New York in the 1970s up until the present, rap music has evolved from a local practice into a complex global phenomenon affecting the lives of millions. In charting hip-hop’s global geography, scholars have begun to explore the ways in which people creatively adapt its expressive forms in locales as varied as South Africa, New Zealand, Italy, Cuba, and Japan. Such studies often stress hip-hop’s transnational, migratory, deterritorialized nature, emphasizing how it has become detached from any original setting or production base (Alim et al. 2008; Basu and Lemelle 2006; Condry 2006; Krims 2000; Mitchell 2002; Spady et al. 2006). Given that hip-hop is no longer city or country centered, and is far from homogeneous in terms of race, ethnicity, and nationality, the task at hand is to address its particularities within diverse social settings and to assess the new meanings invested in it. In this process the new meanings depend on local knowledge, conditions, and sensibilities. One of the basic tenets of rap style and hip-hop culture in general is that of protest. This relates to its origins as a musical, racialized discourse of Afro-American people trying to construct an empowered black identity within a “hostile” and discriminatory society. It was mainly formed as an expression of subcultural, underground resistance against the dominant hegemony (Gilroy 1993; Lipsitz 1994; Rose 1994b; Potter 1995). Because stories of racism, exclusion, stereotyping, and inequality are so central to the Afro-American rap text, rap music became especially popular among different migrant youth populations around the globe. But here is also where the problem begins with the growing literature on rap production by migrants (Kaya 2002; Androutsopoulos 2010; Diessel 2001); that is, that it is treated as a corollary project for these subjects who adopt

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it in order to find responses to their migrant “condition”. Under this line of analysis, the appropriation of rap by young migrants is approached as a mere enactment of reaction to racism, a subversive content addressed against the discriminatory discourses and practices of a hosting nation or society. Although not denying that racism, discrimination, or exclusion are in many cases common issues addressed in migrant rappers’ texts, I argue that focusing only on that aspect and treating migrant rappers merely as agents of de facto resistance on the margins of their host society deprives them of other possible agencies and subjectivities produced in rap practice. When I first started my research I was expecting similar narratives in Chainsat’s rap texts, meaning a socio-political commentary against the Greek state and society treating them in discriminatory and inequitable ways. Interestingly enough, I was wrong. I realized very quickly that their rap message was not so much an attempt to “come out in voice” and produce a resistant discourse for them and their co-migrants in Greece, but rather to develop a resistant cultural sensibility, especially for their compatriots back home. Lipsitz has rightly argued that “the radical nature of hip-hop comes less from its origins than from its uses” (Lipsitz 1994: 37). As both he and Rose (1994b) have noted, then, the cultural significance of rap and hip-hop cannot be reduced to singular or essentialist explanations but must be understood rather as a series of strategies which are worked and staged in response to particular issues encountered in local situations. “Në Lëvizje”: Mobility, Migrancy, and Emergent Forms of Subjectivity Accompanied by Blero, we were strolling along Vlorë’s main street, the boulevardi, on a hot summer weekday morning. Along the boulevardi we passed a large number of cafés with their tables placed outdoors and packed with people, mainly men, drinking their coffee or raki, chatting loudly, or just looking at the passing cars and pedestrians.9 Moreover, we kept encountering people who were just standing in small groups or alone on the side of the street and seemingly doing nothing but passing time. This was a common daily practice, as I had already observed during the time I had spent there. Still, my gaze must have reflected a kind of surprise that impelled Blero to comment bitterly while nodding his head: “Here they just sit all day doing nothing. They do nothing; they just expect from some migrant. . . .” Blero had recently decided to resettle in his home city after almost four years living in Athens. He had left Albania alone as a young boy at the age of 17, crossing the Albanian–Greek border on foot, in an attempt to pursue a “better life” for himself but also for his family members back home.10 For Blero, as for many other male adolescent migrants worldwide, this “crossing” signified a rite of passage into male adulthood. This was not only because it was his “first crossing” – the first time he was leaving his family, his home, his country – but also because of the tangible risks, dangers, and difficulties entailed in its realization and which required certain male qualities to overcome. The majority of migrant men narrate the border crossing in adventurous and heroic terms, where the male body struggles, suffers hardships, exceeds its physical limits, but manages to endure and thus demonstrate successfully the male identity (Van Boeschoten 2015). Blero was the only one of the Chainsat to have made this journey alone – meaning without his family – and this often came up in the discussions to accredit the increased respect he received from the others. This was not only because of the difficulties he had to overcome but also because he had decided that, rather than staying “still” in Albania, he would follow the road of kurbet and “become a man out in the world” (Papailias 2003: 1064).11 Stillness, as a

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state of passivity, was strongly rejected by all members of the group. They used to stress that one has to be on the constant move, to defy obstacles or difficulties, and to learn to maneuver and confront the challenges arising in everyday life so as to pursue one’s goals. As happens in the performance of “freestyle” improvisational rap, where rappers compete in their ability to constantly produce new rhymes and meanings, Chainsat underlined the need to produce new forms of action in response to any limitations or moments of rupture. Notions and terms of movement are inherent in the migration experience and its analytical approach. A migrant is perceived as an uprooted mobile subject, changing countries, language, jobs, status, adjusting to new grounds and contexts but seeking to “settle down” and achieve stability. My informants stressed furthermore that once in a foreign country, stability in terms of economic survival and the maintenance of a basic standard of living could only be reached through a daily routine në lëvizje (literally “on the move”). These youngsters had grown up seeing their parents working long hours, practicing various tasks, and being flexible and adjustable in upcoming hardships and dead-ends in order to keep “things going”. They, too, were accustomed to working and assuming responsibilities from an early age, in taking decisions and navigating through difficult situations. Në lëvizje has thus become a kind of habitus for them, signifying apart from real physical movement in space, a state of constant vigilance and quest. In this context, where migrancy is identified as a condition në lëvizje, a certain form of subjectivity is implied. Blero’s comment, then, on his compatriots’ idleness back home points not only to different circumstances but also to a different subjectivity, defined mainly by a lack of aspiration and of envisioning an alternative future. Against this, the call to lëviz (move) was often communicated to the fans, supporters, and friends of the group, both in their lyrics and in direct communications or in posts written under their personal accounts in social media like Facebook. In a similar way, they were using the expression jepi drejtim, turning it into some kind of Da New Chain linguistic “trademark”. Jepi drejtim literally means to “show the direction”, and more broadly to “lead the way”, to “move on/forward”. Or, in Aro’s words, “to act, do what you have to do, move on”, also expressed in the lyrics of the track “Atë e di unë” (This Is All I Know): “Bë c’ke për te bërë por bëjë,/bë nje fillim/Mos prit nga të tjerët gjigand,/jepi drejtim.” (Do what you have to do but do it,/make a start/Giant, don’t expect from the others,/move on.) The art of rap was born on the streets, when young, unprivileged boys would improvise rhymes competitively, each trying to elevate himself over his opponent by being cleverer in verse. In such a competition, a rapper’s most powerful weapon is their self-confidence. It is a process of developing an empowered sense of self. Optimism, thus, is at the heart of all rap music, a willingness to confront life head-on, to take control, and, hopefully, to redesign one’s life and conditions (Pardue 2008: 3). Although Da New Chain’s call to action may be seen within this broader context, I argue that it is informed by local specificities related to their status as migrants and more to their perception of their country’s recent history and conditions. “Shqipëri O Nëna Ime”: Rapping for the Homeland The notion of the homeland as the desired and imagined place invested with sentiments of nostalgia and pride has long been examined in migration and diaspora studies (Brettell 2003; Laliotou 2004; Mallki 1995; Naficy 1991; Parla 2006). It has also been noted that migrants resort to recuperate a sense of self from the past, due mainly to the conditions of the present that it

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is often difficult to dispute (Ganguly 1992: 40). In this process music, as Pistrick and Isnart (2013) argue, plays a role before, during and after the event of migration, acting as a reference for the longing for home, functioning as a retrospective “memorial soundscape”. . . . The sonic memory of a home left behind remains present in its medialized form, even in the remotest corner of the diaspora. De-territorialization forms the fertile ground for musical creativity and for a growing music industry, which strategically uses spatial and social nostalgia encoded in sound. (Pistrick and Isnart 2013: 509) This kind of nostalgia often takes the form of a collective longing of migrants for their country of origin.12 This nostalgia discourse seems to be completely missing in the Da New Chain music repertoire. Although constantly “looking back” – in terms of a country left behind – they don’t describe a desired home and reality. Their rhymes depict images of a home country that generates no sentiments of love or pride. It is the description of a reality, as they perceive it, that reflects anger and a lot of disappointment. Moreover, it is not a reality of the past, of a country as they left it or remember it, but of an ongoing present. Nina Schiller and Georges Eugene Fouron, in focusing on the contemporary migration trends, argue that for migrants now, more than in the past, the “homeland is not just a site of nostalgia; it is a location of ongoing experience”, due mainly to the new technology media (Schiller and Fouron 2001: 2). Chainsat are thus highly critical of and resistant to this ongoing reality of homeland and the way they experience it as “transmigrants”. In their rap rhymes they reconnect with their homeland and identify with it by actually questioning and rejecting its reality; they don’t romanticize or idealize a homeland, but call for change, and make this call the main ideological claim of their rap music. By representing and provocatively depicting in their lyrics the past and current conditions, they aspire to awaken their compatriots and motivate them to imagine a different reality. It is an attempt to bring back the future dimension in Albania’s time scale. An interesting example is Da New Chain’s track “Shqipëri o Nëna Ime” (Albania, Oh My Mother). The track’s title borrows a verse from the poem “Bagëti e Bujqësia” (Stockbreeding and Farming) by Naim Frashëri, which carries a strong symbolic value for Albanian national identity.13 Naim Frashëri is a very distinguished poet from Albania, and one of the main figures of the Rilindje (Renaissance) movement (1870–1912). Beginning in the early nineteenth century, various self-declared national groups living under the Ottoman Empire became involved in nationalist movements. Intellectuals and the flowering of vernacular literature played an important role in the development of nationalist aspirations and the revival “of a pre-existing national culture” (Sugarman 1999: 421). The Albanian Rilindje was fashioned in the same terms, producing a set of discourses through which the case for an Albanian nation-state was argued. Within this context, Frashëri is often referred to as one of the fathers of Albanian nationalism.14 “Bagëti e Bujqësia”, his best-known poem, is a hymn to the beauties of Albanian lands and nature through the nostalgic verses of the expatriate poet.15 In the early 1990s the Albanian singer Gëzim Nika released a song entitled “Kënga e mërgimtarit” (Song of the Exile), using a number of verses from this poem, for example, in its refrain: “Shqipëri, o nëna ime, ndonëse jam i mërguar,/ dashurinë tënde zemra kurrë s’ ka me harruar” (Albania, oh my mother, although I am in exile,/ my heart has never forgotten your love).16

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Sugarman argues that the song, like most of Nika’s songs on the same cassette, refers to the political situation in Kosovo, with Kosovars seen as exiles from their Albanian homeland (Sugarman 1999: 448). Nika himself, in an interview published on August 18, 2010 in the online magazine Shekulli, noted: “Kënga ‘Shqipëri, o nëna ime’ është thuajse një hymn i mërgimtarëve shqiptarë kudo në botë” (The song “Shqipëri o Nëna Ime” is almost a hymn of the Albanian migrants all over the world).17 The song became very popular, and since its first release it has been sung by various artists, as well as recorded in versions and styles different from its original composition. Da New Chain’s rap version of the song is actually an inventive parody of the romantic and nostalgic image of a homeland, which succeeds in a pragmatic shift of the signified. The lyrics depict Albania in gloomy and dystopic terms. Conditions of extreme poverty, extended political and economic corruption, deficiencies in justice and wide economic disparities form the context against which they articulate their rap narrative. Certain events that marked the country’s recent history after the fall of the communist regime are mentioned in negative terms, forming the context for current conditions, attitudes, and politics. Instead of sentiments of longing and pride of “nëna Shqipëria”, frustration and grief invest emotionally this extremely realistic and apocalyptic narrative of Albania’s past and present, clearly reflected in the chorus lines: “Shqipëri, o nëna ime, si të lanë ty jetime,/këta mafioza që kurr nuk merren neper hetime./Shqipëri, o nëna ime, me këta politikanë,/që nuk ua ndjen për popullin, mendojnë vetëm paranë” (Albania, oh my mother, they’ve left you deserted,/those mafia guys who are never arrested./Albania, oh my mother, with these politicians,/that they don’t care about people, they only think of money). Albania’s recent past to which Chainsat frequently refer is one of great change and instability. In 1985 the death of the country’s great communist leader Enver Hoxha heralded the country’s difficult and turbulent “transition” to the socio-political structures of a market economy.18 The first years of the 1990s were marked by political instability, economic collapse, and a state of social unrest and dissatisfaction, which led thousands of people to leave the country for Italy and Greece. My informants, having lived their childhood in the extremely unstable, difficult, and sometimes even violent conditions of the 1990s, reflect critically upon this period in their lyrics, and blame it not only for the current situation in Albania but also for their own migration. In contrast to the older generation of Albanian migrants in Greece who usually view their migration as a consequence of the collapse of the communist regime and its aftermath, these youngsters see their migration as the inability of the political powers of their country to manage the subsequent situation and to establish conditions of security, stability, justice, and well-being for its people.19 This is clear in Aro’s lyrics of “Shqipëri o Nëna Ime”: “Në emigrim për arsye ekonomike mbas 1997,/ja qifsha robët kësaj politike,/e pashë vendin tim si ta loznin në kazino PS dhe PD,/banda mafioze që donte t’u përkiste bota” (In migration due to economic reasons after 1997,/fuck those who serve these fucking politics,/I saw PS and PD how they gambled my country at the casino,/a gang of mobsters who wanted to own the world).20 After the end of an isolationist and authoritarian period of governance in Albania, many believed in a new era of considerable economic prosperity and of social and political justice. People could imagine different possibilities and futures, and believed they could pursue new trajectories. Moreover, it was a period of mobilization in terms of claims; youth, in particular, participated in protests against the established political regime.21 Even the decision to migrate during these first years was seen by many, especially young people, not as a movement of despair but as a subversive act of opposition to the former regime, a need to “break the ties”, to explore the freedom of movement across spaces, to pursue their life objectives out in the world. All of

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these hopes and expectations were canceled out by rigged elections, corrupt governance, illegal activities, institutional arbitrariness, and ongoing political tensions. As Miranda Vickers wrote in 1993 on the occasion of local elections: “With each passing election, Albanians are becoming increasingly apathetic towards the political progress and towards their political leadership in particular” (Vickers 2003: 55, quoted in King and Mai 2008: 47). Especially after 1997, Albanians started to realize that there was little hope that things would improve.22 This and the fact that in Greece, one of the main destination countries, the first regularization programs for undocumented migrants were enacted, led many Albanian men, who had already migrated to Greece, to also take their children and wives with them and settle down on a more permanent basis. This was also the case for my informants. If we agree that in any rap expression there is an inherent form of protest against a dominant ideology or system of power, in Da New Chain’s rap narrative this is predominantly related to the corrupt political system in the country of origin and the recent socio-political conditions formed during the 1990s in Albania. Rappers, as “storytellers” of their own communities (Benjamin 1973), have as their mission to communicate apocalyptically the “reality” articulated in terms of experience, and hence to mobilize the community against some hegemonic power. For Da New Chain this becomes particularly relevant in a “community” they perceive as “immobile”, “still”, apathetic, an attitude which, they believe, was formed and established after – and because of – the events and developments of the 1990s. Viewing themselves as agents of political and social change, they demand that their compatriots lëviz, move, act, in an attempt to put an end to this prolonged period of stagnation. One of the most popular TV shows in Albania since 2004 is entitled Portokalli (The Orange). From Top Channel’s official site one learns that the name of the show refers to the orange color of traffic-lights, because “this is related to the Albanian reality, which often seems like a car stopped at a traffic light in orange, that does not allow it either to go forward or to turn back”.23 Thinking of my informants’ lyrics and listening to their words loudly and forcefully “spitted out”, I couldn’t help but imagine them pushing this car to finally make it move. Conclusion During the period of research from late 2009 to mid-2012, a period of crises and difficulties in Athens, I had frequent discussions with Chainsat about their desires, dreams, and future plans. Most of the time I had difficulty listening to their rather unrealistic or hard-to-pursue ideas, expressed by them in very optimistic and “realizable” terms in the context of a harsh reality, full of difficulties and all kinds of obstacles. How was it possible for Aro to describe the idea of migrating to the USA in such easy terms and to furthermore encourage his friend to pursue it, while at the same time even traveling to Albania could sometimes raise difficulties due to residence permit issues? Why, when each time I was mistakenly trying to be “the voice of reason” it seemed so vain while causing irritation or even anger on their part? “People here [in Albania] don’t make big dreams and that’s the problem”, Blero once told me, while Doza noted: “I am one of those who likes to cut my coat not according to my cloth. I always ask for some more.” Despite the experience of limitations and constraints, Chainsat were aspiring to discourses and practices articulating a state of potentiality, and foregrounding imagination as the force of change. By adding ruptures to dominant narratives, their rap message aimed at contesting a “static” understanding and management of current conditions and opening

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up new forms of subjectivity and action. Their call for mëndje në lëviz (thinking in motion) is a call to imagine, think, and act outside mainstream and rigid categories and meanings. Acknowledgments This chapter is dedicated to Andy V., Blero, Doza, Aro, P.K., and Tani V for insisting on having “unrealistic” dreams in such realistic times. I want to thank them for trusting me and putting up with my constant questions. I am particularly indebted to Aro for our long internet conversations on rap verses, words, and expressions that helped me gain a valuable insight into their meaning. Finally, I wish to thank Riki Van Boeschoten for providing me with the benefit of her critical reading and for her unconditional support over the years. Notes 1 2 3

4 5 6 7

8 9 10 11 12

13 14 15 16 17 18

19

Move it brother! This chapter draws upon my PhD research at the University of Thessaly, supported by a postgraduate scholarship co-financed by the European Union and Greek national funds, Research Funding Program: Heracleitus II. Investing in knowledge society through the European Social Fund. My informants, although being aware of the American terms “family” or “crew” to describe rap collectives like their own in terms of its structure, function and scope, were for different reasons reluctant to use them. To refer to Da New Chain they were interchangeably using the words skuadra (team in Albanian) or just Chainsat (the Chains). The connotation of the term, of a country being invaded by hordes of “foreigners”, was deliberately generated and reproduced in the public media and in the political agenda for many years. For a presentation of the birth and evolution of the Greek hip-hop scene based on the pioneers’ narrative accounts, see Terzidis (2003). Hip-hop and turbo folk are the two leading music styles. The 1990s was a highly turbulent period for the Kosovo area. In the wider context of the breakup of the Federal Republic of Yugoslavia that began in 1991 and the rise of independence claims and movements in the area, major tensions between ethnic Albanians and Serbs living in the area occurred. Violence escalated in the area and led to serious war conflicts (1998–1999) with NATO intervention. www.kosovotwopointzero.com/en/article/1041/from-lekes-kanun-to-unikatils-canon (accessed May 25, 2015). For a discussion on nationalism and art production in Kosovo see Boynik (2007). Raki is an alcoholic drink, popular in almost all Balkan countries. Coming from a divorced family, Blero had assumed the role of the head of the family because of a neglectful father and due to the fact of being the eldest son. The main reason for him to migrate was to repay the money the family had borrowed for his sister’s studies in Italy. Kurbet is a Turkish-derived term used to refer to the journey to a foreign land for work. It was historically used to describe the frequent travel and sojourn of Albanians within the Ottoman Empire. For an interesting analysis on the reinstatement of the discourse of kurbet in the 1990s in Albania, see Papailias (2003). In Greek music these kinds of songs form a special category known as “tis xenitias”, derived from the word xenos which means foreigner. Similarly, in Albania we have kengë kurbeti (songs of migration/nostalgia). For an interesting and thorough analysis of kurbet songs and the notion of nostalgia in the region of south Albania see Pistrick (2012). Frashëri, Naim. 1886. Bagëti e Bujqësi. Bucharest. For a detailed analysis of the Albanian “Rilindje” movement and Naim Frashëri’s role, see Sugarman (1999). The poem was published in Bucharest, where a large Albanian community of 40,000 people lived (Sugarman 1999: 430). Although “Kënga e mërgimtarit” is the official title of the song, it has become widely known as “Shqipëri O Nëna Ime”. A search on the Web proves that over the years the title gradually changed, so that almost no references to the original can still be found. www.shekulli.com.al/web/p.php?id=3009&kat=108 (accessed September 7, 2014). The use of the term “transition” to describe what followed the collapse of communist regimes in the countries of Eastern Europe has been strongly contested, as it reduces a complex process into a linear progression between two opposed and uniform poles: a past communist system and a neoliberal interpretation of democracy built around the utopia of free market capitalism. However, and instead of any objections or illusions dispelled in the meantime, “the language of ‘transition’ remains firmly entrenched” (Hann 2007: 232). Gilles de Rapper makes the same point when he discerns the different characteristics between the two flows of Albanian emigration, namely 1990 to 1991 and after 1997 (De Rapper 2000: 7–8).

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23

PS: Partia Socialiste (Socialist Party), PD: Partia Demokratike (Democratic Party). King and Mai refer to the emerging role of young people as a distinct social and political force in Albania as one of the important elements that have marked the period (King and Mai 2008: 42). In January 1997, savings companies that had sprung up all over the country, promising huge profits from interest rates, collapsed. Outraged people who lost their money went out into the streets, blaming the government and a corrupt system of governance. Soon, the situation got out of control, with the country being on the verge of civil war (King and Mai 2008: 46). http://top-channel.tv/new/tv/program.php?idp=7 (accessed April 17, 2015).

Bibliography Alim, Samy H., Ibrahim, Awad, and Pennycock, Alastair. 2008. Global Linguistic Flows: Hip Hop Cultures, Youth Identities, and The Politics Of Language. New York: Routledge. Androutsopoulos, Jannis. 2010. “Multilingualism, Ethnicity, and Genre: The Case of German Hip-Hop.” In The Languages of Global Hip Hop, ed. Marina Terkourafi. London: Continuum, pp. 19–43. Baldwin-Edwards, Martin. 2004. Statistical Data on Immigrants in Greece: An Analytic Study of Available Data and Recommendations for Conformity with European Union Standards. Athens: Mediterranean Migration Observatory. Basu, Dipannita and Lemelle, Sidney J. 2006. The Vinyl Ain’t Final: Hip-Hop and the Globalisation of Black Popular Culture. London, and Ann Arbor, MI: Pluto Press. Benjamin, Walter. 1973. “The Storyteller.” In Illuminations, ed. Hanna Arendt. London: Fontana/Collins, pp. 83–109. Boynik, Sezgin. 2007. “Theories of Nationalism and Contemporary Art in Kosovo.” In Contemporary Art and Nationalism: Critical Reader, ed. Mina Henriksson and Sezgin Boynik. Prishtinë: Institute for Contemporary Art “EXIT”/Center for Humanistic Studies “Gani Bobi”, pp. 214–237. Brettell, Caroline. 2003. Anthropology and Migration: Essays on Transnationalism, Ethnicity and Identity. Walnut Creek: AltaMira Press. Condry, Ian. 2006. Hip-Hop Japan: Rap and the Paths of Cultural Globalization. Durham, NC: Duke University Press. De Rapper, Gilles. 2000. Les Albanais À Istanbul. Istanbul: Institut français d’études anatoliennes (IEFA). Available at http://books.openedition.org/ifeagd/114 (accessed December 6, 2014). Diessel, Caroline. 2001. “Bridging East and West on the ‘Orient Express’: Oriental Hip Hop in the Turkish Diaspora of Berlin.” Journal of Popular Music Studies 12: 165–187. Ganguly, Keya. 1992. “Migrant Identities, Personal Memory and the Construction of Self.” Cultural Studies 6: 27–51. Gilroy, Paul. 1993. The Black Atlantic: Modernity and Double Consciousness. London: Verso. Hann, Chris. 2007. “After Communism: Reflections on East European Anthropology and the ‘Transition’.” Social Anthropology 2(3): 229–249. Kaya, Ayhan. 2002. “Aesthetics of Diaspora: Contemporary Minstrels in Turkish Berlin.” Journal of Ethnic and Migration Studies 28(1): 43–62. King, Russell and Nicola, Mai. 2008. Out of Albania: From Crisis Migration to Social Inclusion in Italy. New York and Oxford: Berghahn Books. Krims, Adam. 2000. Rap Music and the Poetics of Identity. Cambridge and New York: Cambridge University Press. Laliotou, Ioanna. 2004. Transatlantic Subjects: Acts of Migration and Cultures of Transnationalism between Greece And America. Chicago, IL: Chicago University Press. Lipsitz, George. 1994. Dangerous Crossroads: Popular Music, Postmodernism, and the Poetics of Place. New York: Verso. Lull, James. 1995. Media, Communication, Culture. A Global Approach. Cambridge: Polity Press. Malkki, Liisa. 1995. “Refugees and Exile: From ‘Refugee Studies’ to the National Order of Things.” Annual Review Of Anthropology 24: 495–523. Mitchell, Tony, ed. 2002. Global Noise: Rap and Hip Hop Outside the USA. Middletown, CT: Wesleyan University Press. Naficy, Hamid. 1991. “The Poetics and Practice of Iranian Nostalgia in Exile.” Diaspora 1(3): 285–302. Papailias, Penelope. 2003. “‘Money of Kurbet is Money of Blood’: The Making of a Hero of Migration at The Greek– Albanian Border.” Journal of Ethnic And Migration Studies 29(6): 1059–1078. Pardue, Derek. 2008. Ideologies of Marginality in Brazilian Hip Hop: Retelling Marginality through Music. New York: Palgrave Macmillan. Parla, Ayse, 2006. “Longing, Belonging, and Locations of Homeland among Turkish Immigrants from Bulgaria.” Journal of Southeastern Europe And Black Sea Studies 6(4): 543–557. Pistrick, Eckehard, 2012. Chanter La Nostalgie. Emigration, Culture Et Creativite En Albanie Du Sud. PhD dissertation, Université Paris-Ouest Nanterre and Martin-Luther Universität Halle-Wittenberg. Pistrick, Eckehard and Isnart, Cyril. 2013. “Landscapes, Soundscapes, Mindscapes: Introduction.” Etnográfica 17(3): 503–513. Available at http://etnografica.revues.org/3213 (accessed November 10, 2014). Potter, Russell. 1995. Spectacular Vernaculars: Hip-Hop and the Politics of Postmodernism. Albany, NY: State University of New York. Rose, Tricia. 1994a. “A Style Nobody Can Deal With: Politics, Style and the Postindustrial City in Hip Hop.” In Microphone Fiends: Youth Music and Culture, ed. Andrew Ross and Rose Tricia. New York: Routledge, pp. 71–88.

Albanian Rap Music Made in Athens • 177 Rose, Tricia. 1994b. Black Noise: Rap Music and Black Culture in Contemporary America. Hanover, NH: Wesleyan University Press. Schiller, Nina Glick and Fouron, Georges Eugene. 2001. Georges Woke Up Laughing: Long-Distance Nationalism and the Search for Home. Durham, NC: Duke University Press. Spady, James G., Alim, Samy H., and Meghelli, Samir. 2006. The Global Cipha: Hip Hop Culture and Consciousness. Philadelphia, PA: Black History Museum Press. Sugarman, Jane. 1999. “Imagining the Homeland: Poetry, Songs, and the Discourses of Albanian Nationalism.” Ethnomusicology 43(3): 419–458. Terzidis, Christos. 2003. To Hip Hop Den Stamata (Hip Hop Doesn’t Stop). Athens: Oxy. Van Boeschoten, Riki. 2015. “Transnational Mobility and the Renegotiation of Gender Identities: Albanian and Bulgarian Migrants in Greece.” In Migration in the Southern Balkans: From Ottoman Territory to Globalised Nation States, ed. Hans Vermeulen, Martin Baldwin-Edwards, and Riki Van Boeschoten. New York: Springer International, pp. 161–182. Vickers, Miranda. 2003. “Albania’s Local Elections: October 2003. A Test of Stability and Democracy.” BESA 7(2): 53–56.

PART

V

Present Musical Pasts Preamble The title of Part V borrows from Andreas Hyussen’s notion of “present pasts”, drawing our attention to the ways we may (re)think of musical tradition through the ongoing politics of memory and the disturbance of normative categories of time in our perception of music history. Separating tradition from fixed ideas of pastness suggests a revisiting of the concept as a ceaseless palimpsest imbued with memories and mediations, or as an object revealing complex intentionalities, and involving diverse agencies, performative milieus, creative histories, and futures. Chapter 13 by Papadatos and Dawe deals with Cretan musical tradition, focusing on the polysemic and ever-transforming landscape of lyra-laouto ensembles whose definition as either “folk” or “popular” raises challenging questions, pointing to the problematics of the distinction and its variant uses. The lyra-laouto ensembles seem to meet, the authors suggest, the criteria of both a “folk” and a “popular” music tradition, thus providing a critical insight into how social and cultural values are negotiated through musical performance. Based on ethnographic research, the chapter shows how musicians and audiences of Cretan music perceive such terms in discursive constructions representing their music and music at large. They consider the impact of local and international music business, as well as of modern practices of musical production and performance, in the reconfigurations of a tradition at once resilient and adaptable, a tradition at once globalized and rooted to place, culture, and people. Based on musicians’ discourses and practices, the chapter further represents the categorization and value system developed beyond the “folk”/“popular” binary (also identified with the “traditional”/“modern” distinction), suggesting the understanding of Cretan traditional music as a “meta-folk” genre. Chapter 14 travels from Crete to the Aegean island of Ikaria, otherwise described as “the Jamaica of Greece” – owing to its alleged “cool”, “relaxed”, and “alternative” lifestyle – and the changing significations and emplacements of ikariotikos (Ikariot) dance tune/song. Panopoulos maps and analyzes certain symbolic uses, reuses, and transformations of the tune in association with the cultural politics of place and belonging as well as, within the framework of “world music” trends, looking at processes of exchange, mutuality, opposition, and deterritorialization on the national, local, and global levels across time. Listening and dancing to ikariotikos, an invented tradition, became key symbols of belonging to and experiencing the Ikariot ideal of life, as the author suggests, also manifested in the national and tourist imaginary of Ikaria as an exceptional cultural milieu. Recent adaptations and remixes of the tune encapsulating diverse local ideals next to Mediterranean, Balkan, national, and oriental musical stereotypes constitute a hybrid “world music” aesthetic circulating in Greece and on the worldwide web. The chapter also focuses on disputes over collective song copyright on the island of Naxos through contested claims of authenticity and cultural property that were deepened in the context of the EU municipal unification program towards the end of the 1990s, revitalizing older controversies and debates. Instead of representing a demand for gaining credits in the regime of the international music

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market, such claims, Panopoulos stresses, constituted fields for negotiating local identities and boundaries within an increasingly changing world of national and international politics in the face of the nisiotika (island songs) genre booming since the 1980s. In the final section of the chapter the author presents a number of remixes traced on the web in order to exemplify the song’s ongoing dynamic transformations and diverse significations enacted within “new” genre worlds projecting local desires, nostalgia, national claims, and global fantasies. Chapter 15 is based on ethnographic research with the contemporary popular songwriter, musician and singer Sokratis Malamas, mediating particular aspects of his life-world as narrated by himself in order to highlight the poetics of the entechno-laiko (art-popular song) genre. Tragaki deals with the art-popular song cosmopolitics defined by his “indigenous cosmopolitan” strategies of weaving a world of musical Greekness created by the pervasiveness of his transnational musical outlooks. Through a relational understanding of indigeneity released from the romance of claiming “rights” and “culture”, the approach suggested here challenges hegemonic discourses of the “indigenous” in the context of the renewed rigor of critically addressing essentialist and universalist conceptualizations of the term, as it questions any perceived antinomy between “indigeneity” and “cosmopolitanism”. The chapter thus privileges an ethnographically grounded approach to the formation of an art-popular “genre world” focusing on Malamas’ “situated cosmopolitan” and (re-)cosmopolitanizing practices, and the openness of its multiple flows and agencies, arguing “against the slur that cosmopolitans are rootless”. It focuses on the relational becoming of his diasporic/cosmopolitan self in his multiple encounters with allegedly incompatible musical worlds and the invention of his own musical cosmos formed with a sort of democratic sensibility favoring genre-crossing. Entechno-laiko emerges in Malamas’ narratives as a “paradoxical assemblage” made by the fertile rapprochement and reterritorialization of musical places intuitively forwarding and creatively reworking musical pasts and embedded affective ontologies. His entechno-laiko voice and songs produce a popular sound world, evoking sentimentalisms and intimacies of local everydayness in the public sphere, which also manage to attract a transnational audience despite his strategic reluctance to engage with the capitalist logic of the “world music” market.

13 Popular Music in Crete The Case of the Lyra-Laouto Ensemble Ioannis Papadatos and Kevin Dawe

On the Eastern Mediterranean island of Crete, the lyra-laouto ensemble dominates the musical landscape. It is music to be found “mediated and live” (after Keil 1984) where at weddings and other celebrations guests are invited to dance and sing; but also the many recordings made by the ensemble resonate well beyond the island and into the diaspora. The most iconic instrument involved is the lyra, a bowed, upright lute which features, in general, as the lead or main solo instrument. One or more plucked lutes – the laouta – accompany in general, or to a lesser extent contribute solo elements (hetero-phonically) to the ensemble in which the lyra player is usually but not always the lead vocalist. In these and other ways, the ensemble, sometimes called the zigia (literally a pair of instruments), represents a unique island-based tradition. The ensemble has, in one form or another, reached a worldwide audience; for example, in the closing ceremony to the 2004 Olympic Games (see Discography), in the Eurovision Song Contest (Elena Paparizou, “My Number One”), through artists sometimes not from Crete but intent on fusing regional and popular Greek and other musical forms; for example, the wellknown and influential works of the Irish, English-born musician Ross Daly based on the local musical idiom and the alternative folk Rock of Kristi Stassinopoulou (see Dawe 2009). Within Crete, the most persistent and widespread definitions of Cretan lyra-led music tend to draw attention to its overall musical style, delivery, and communal role: the often-driving rhythmic and mellifluous melodic elements that characterize it, the modal system and melodic phrases employed as the basis for composition, extemporization, and improvisation, the lyrical elements embodied in often-improvised sung or intoned couplets (mantinades), and its public performance and presentation as music for singing, dancing, and merriment (where celebrants dance, drink, eat, and, sometimes fire off guns). These are the hard-hitting elements that one finds at most live performances by the ensemble and, for the authors at least, add up to both the typical and common-sense defining elements as experienced by participants and observers. However, the situation is rather more complex. The role of the lyra-laouto ensemble in the Cretan social and cultural landscape has manifold political and economic associations and implications. It is a polysemic and polyvalent musical formation. It is tied to the identity and lifestyle of the island in numerous ways; it is also clearly empowered and empowering for the various individuals and groups who are its patrons, and it is not the only musical idiom on the island, as will be discussed below. It interacts with a wide range of local and non-local genres and styles with cross-pollination of repertoire and instruments. Yet how can it be, we ask, that even in the internet era the musical, lyrical, and social dimensions of this island tradition demonstrate resilience (with the continued incorporation at

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core of a standard range of historically established musical repertoire and models for performance, lyrical sentiments, and approach to presentation) and adaption (through musicians’ engagement with new media and work opportunities)? Is this a neat marriage of stasis and change, a balance, perhaps, between tradition and innovation? A growing synergy between what the lyra-laouto ensemble has to offer live and mediated? Beyond musical style and performance context, what are the other drivers of this tradition then that contribute to its continued recruitment of young musicians (and dancers), and an appreciation by a wider, often musically lay Cretan audience? Why should younger generations continue to subscribe to the music of the lyra and laouto? There are some interesting and challenging notions informing this choice, especially in terms of the island’s history. The connections to the ancient world of Greece through references to Minoan culture in Cretan song and promotional imagery have been cultivated by folklorists, nationalists, the tourist industry, and record labels. Yet there is little or no evidence to suggest either lyra music’s rootedness in the ancient past or its total discontinuity with the Minoan world. For sure, the instruments of Cretan lyra music may be found in the seventeenth century, and one of the core pieces of its repertoire – Erotokritos – appeared at that time (see Anoyianakis 1991). There is greater evidence to suggest that much of the music one hears in Crete today has its roots in an emerging body of rural and urban musical repertory which coalesced onto longplaying records in the 1920s, the tradition as a consequence defined thereafter by the work of the recordings of the protomastores1 – Charilaos Piperakis (1888–1978) and Andreas Rodinos (1912–1934) were among the earliest and best remembered – whose compositions, improvisations, and poetry provide the model for today’s tradition. Thus, oi rizes or “the roots” of the lyra music tradition – kritiki paradosiaki mousiki – its sounds and meanings, emerged out of an amalgamation of village music-making, urban café culture, the creation of a diasporic network due to emigration, and, later, the establishment of a recording culture and music industry on the island with strong connections to Athens and to eventual retail and live performance outlets throughout the Cretan diaspora. Lyra music as one finds it today continues to present a challenging problem for those of us trying to define it: is it a “popular” or “folk” music phenomenon? Perhaps, if one can identify the components of both, then one might dare to propose that it is a combination of the two. We believe this is the case for the lyra-laouto ensemble and we provide some criteria for this in the following sections. But, by way of an introduction, it is necessary to state that for more or less one century the lyra-laouto ensemble has existed as both a form of live music accompanying calendrical and life-passage rituals in village communities and urban centres (in neighbourhoods created largely through emigration from the villages to the coastal towns), as well as in the clubs and recording studios in the island’s towns and cities, but also in Athens and among other long-established diasporic communities. Thus, the problem of definition is one that thoroughly exercises us in this chapter as our case study seems to meet the criteria of both a “folk” and “popular” musical tradition (in both the Greek and English use of those terms). With the establishment of the complex musical infrastructure described above – at once reaching into the heartland of the island and out into the diaspora (from Heraklion to Athens to the USA and Australia) – a fusion of rural and urban values took place. Moreover, Cretans not only looked out from but also began to look back at their homeland and its traditions. It was clear that the music of the lyra-laouto ensemble not only helped Cretans everywhere hold up a mirror to themselves, but also provided a rich repository of sounds, images, lyrics, and dance opportunities which entered into diasporic circulation and drew attention to ex-patriot

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ties to the homeland, both cultural and economic. With the emergence of a recording culture, a diasporic music-making circuit and a large captive audience in the towns and cities came the turn to professionalization among musicians. Yet with this move into the world of recording culture, musicians took with them many of the values, social norms, and approaches to life that informed their upbringing in the villages where, undoubtedly, local pastoralist lifestyles helped shape lyra music. Thus, however idealized it may be, the tradition is profoundly symbolic for its audiences, both in and outside Crete, in the village and the town, as the “music of our ancestors”, “expressive of local values”, and “uplifting”. It is said to be, to recall a common and most aptly applied local phrase, ap’ tin kardia (“from the heart”). However, by the late 1960s Crete and its “traditions” had already been aesthetized and idealized, at least in the context of the touristic marketing of the island as a Mediterranean paradise, with the popularity of the film Zorba the Greek (1964), which drew international artistic and touristic attention to the island. Moreover, by the 1980s Kostas Mountakis (succeeded by Dimitris Pasparakis) secured a place for the lyra and the laouto in the music conservatoires of the island. Today, there is a widespread odeia (“music school”) teaching culture with a network of satellite teaching spaces throughout the island. Beyond but sometimes within the reach of international media, many artists have reworked “Cretanness” and “Cretan traditions”, and have associated Cretan music with various other genres, where “Cretan” acquires new, even contested meanings. Psarantonis, for instance, performed in the so-described alternative Rock music festival “All Tomorrow’s Parties” and has collaborated with the group Daemonia Nymphe, who are supposed to play ancient Greek instruments (see Discography). The laouto player Giorgis Xylouris (Psarogiorgis) recently released a CD together with the experimental musicians Yiannis Angelakas and Nikos Veliotis (Oso ki an Dernei o Anemos (No Matter How Long the Wind Blows)) and more recently with the Australian drummer Jim White (Goats) forming the relatively successful Xylouris White ensemble. With Ross Daly, Cretan music entered the universe of “world music” (see Discography). Loudovikos ton Anogion may be said to have promoted a gentrified “Cretanness” in the sophisticated world of contemporary entechno (“art song”),2 while he himself was promoted by the renowned entechno song composer Manos Hadjidakis. During the Junta years (1967–1974), Nikos Xylouris’ songs had already transformed Cretan traditional music into a symbol of resistance against the Colonels and gained increased popularity among counter-cultural groups and the Greek Left with one of his recordings of a traditional rizitiko song “Pote tha Kanei Xasteria” (When Will the Sky Clear Again), becoming the unofficial anthem of the November 1973 university student uprisings (see Discography). Recently, many laouto performers have managed to establish themselves as primary soloists in attempting to promote the role of their instrument independently from the lyra-laouto ensemble. Such enterprises are not novel in the history of Cretan music but nowadays they indubitably appear to attract much attention among both Cretan and non-Cretan audiences. Notably, the laouto players Giorgis Xylouris (Psarogiorgis), Giorgos Manolakis, and Michalis Tzouganakis are some of the most influential musicians of Cretan music who feature the laouto as the primary instrument of their performances and compositions. More than just a historical overview of the development of Cretan music as mediated and live, we offer evidence gained using both diachronic and synchronic research axes. At the intersection of these axes, Dawe’s fieldwork took place in Crete throughout the 1990s and Papadatos’s in the 2010s. Our deep-immersive and participant observational fieldwork provides insights gained by both the cultural insider and outsider. Thus, we offer insights gained over a

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focused period of research covering 25 years. However, both of us remain exercised by the problems of definition that attend various forms of Cretan music, especially the music made by the lyra and laouto ensemble. We claim that its study provides considerable insights into how social and cultural values are contested and negotiated through musical performance, whether on record or in live contexts. And although we do not have space here to provide a detailed analysis of recordings using recently developed generic models (see Moore 2012) or live celebrations (see Cowan 1990; Dawe 2007), we offer a framework for further detailed work. Notions of the Popular and the Folk There is no definition that can pin down either folk or popular music, at least at a universal level. Both terms are useful and true in quotidian talk but pose a number of difficulties when approached as scientific categories. Thus, any effort towards their definition should be relevant to a context related to a region, a genre, and its lineage. In general, folk music is an attribution that implies certain characteristics to music and historically it often refers to “non-art” preindustrial genres as well as to their continuation – usually through reproduction – in the modern world. In Greece, folk music’s contemporary status and value is related to nineteenth-century romantic nationalism, statism, and survivalism (see Herzfeld 1987 [1982]) all the way to twentiethcentury tourist music and modern “world music” endeavours. It has proved a very capable tool towards building national consciousness as exploited by the intelligentsia and states worldwide. Still, it expresses peoples’ local identity in the modern fast-paced and globalising world, and it often remains an important means for their musical expression. Perhaps in these latter cases folk music retains its most perplexing overtones with regard to its definition, since the continuation of a musical tradition is often in antithesis with the presupposed stasis usually attributed to folk music. As the most general and wide-encompassing definition, it could be said – paraphrasing Slobin (2011: 15) – that it is what people sing at the most direct level without the need for mediators or higher aesthetic credibility. As an equally convoluted meaning, popular music corresponds to a nexus of connotations that may vary, from music that is commercially viable to music that is popular with a large group of people. At the beginning of his book on popular music, Middleton (1990) notes that, at an elementary analytical layer, popular music may be any music that is popular with someone. Historically, the term has also been used to refer to folk songs as well as to other compositions printed on sheet music and distributed among the good societies of Europe during the nineteenth century (Middleton 1990: 3–4). However, the category is mostly associated with musical styles and genres of the twentieth-century music industry, Adornian mass culture, and matters of art reproduction (Benjamin 1999 [1968]). Juxtaposed to “art music”, popular music is often considered to be music of lower value that addresses the less educated strata of a society. At a radical end and through an often quasi-Marxist discourse, the musics attributed to this genre are considered mere commodities with no originality or artistic value. The category often includes musics that may just be considered too “radical”, “dangerous”, or “corrupting”: values ascribed to social groups and not entirely related to the musical sound per se but rather to a supposedly concomitant lifestyle, beliefs, or ideas (see Frith 2004). The vexed question here, however, is not providing a review for what these terms stand for cross-culturally, but an understanding of how audiences of Cretan music and Cretan music artists think of these terms in the process of understanding their music and music at large. Although there are literal translations for both terms in Greek, people may employ a varied

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vocabulary to express popular and folk according to the genre in question. The transformations that take place within Cretan music are, we believe, related to the popular facet of a genre that is otherwise “officially” characterized as a folk tradition. Before examining the corresponding terminology used by the musicians and audiences of Cretan music, we will first briefly review the historical transition of the genre from its indisputable folk nature to its contemporary status, along with the probable parameters which facilitated that process. Traditions and Transformations The definitional ambiguity of Cretan music is a result of the continuation of this island’s folk tradition into the modern world. The factors that made this transition possible are not clear, yet some possible explanations are available. Within the sphere of urban legends, a very popular explanation for why Cretans “love their music” and “hold it close to their hearts” is shared among both insiders and outsiders. It supports the idea that Cretans are too proud or, according to another interpretation, too stubborn to give up their own culture and music for something from outside the borders of the island. No matter how stereotypical this explanation may sound, it is, amusingly, also to be found in historical writings: Robert Pashley, an English economist and traveller, noted in his Travels in Crete that “[d]istinguished as all the Greeks are by the love of their own country, this general characteristic is still more strongly developed in the Cretans than in the inhabitants of any other district, with which I am acquainted in this part of the world” (Pashley 1837: 308). One might also claim that in Crete, the formation of a distinct island tradition has also performed a “rallying cry” or call to arms against numerous invaders, more recently during World War II. Apart from such common and popular explanations, there are many other, much more tangible factors that may be mentioned as catalytic forces behind the reinforcement of Cretan music in the process of its transformation towards a contemporary musical genre. As we have already mentioned, Cretan music has been popular among non-Cretan audiences through the performances of Nikos Xylouris from as early as the 1970s. In the 1980s the influential works of Ross Daly brought Cretan music to the world music scene. Beyond that, we should not neglect the economic wealth of the island towards supporting its own record business and mass media. According to Dawe (2007: 34), in 1990, Heraklion, the capital city of Crete, was the wealthiest city in Greece per-capita. The flourishing music business of the island allowed Cretan music to enter modern means of music production and turned it into a highly competitive genre on the Cretan record retailers’ shelves among the incoming range of other Greek and Western popular music genres. Its incorporation with music business has facilitated Cretan music artists to elaborate with their given, and otherwise – as established – folk material in new ways; ways that are sometimes considered foreign to the perceived identity of the genre and thus not always welcome among all the local audiences. Some novelties were eventually established as part of the tradition within the running process of redefinition that employs folk and popular as a fight between the old and the new. As an example of a relatively recent novelty, we may note that in the course of the past 30 years the composition by the Alefantinoi brothers, “Limnes ta Mathia sou” (Your Eyes are Lakes) has been transformed from a novelty into a classic piece of Cretan music repertory (see Discography). Popular music culture and the local and foreign music industry have played a catalytic role in the development of Cretan music, especially since the 1950s. One of their greatest effects on the tradition has been the pan-Cretanization of indigenous musical traditions in the island.

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The variety of styles captured in the first 78rpm records by the protomastores made room for a homogenizing tradition from the 1960s onward. Eventually, the favouring of some musical traditions over others has brought the latter to the threshold of their existence as practising traditions. Even in a relatively narrow context such as the island of Crete the market laws have had their effect on favouring the most popular traditions of the island aiming for bigger sales. Modern practices of music production and performance have gradually imbued Cretan music with some very distinct characteristics, including a specific repertory and instrumentation. These practices engendered a hall of fame, including lyra and laouto players from all over Crete, many of whom are celebrated in the images decking the walls of a great many Cretan establishments, from coffee shops to musical instrument workshops, on public transport and advertising poster boards (see Dawe 2007: 6, 121, 153). In the process, the local society was introduced with the recorded sound as a new form of musical perception. The technological means introduced during that time presented local musicians with a whole new set of capabilities over performance through studio recording sessions. The live performance setting was also adapted through the popularization of public address equipment, introducing the concept of “stage” (palko) as opposed to the previous setting where musicians would sit among the audience or in the middle of the dancing circle so as to be heard.3 Yet the practice of music never lost sight of its most fundamental functions in the context of glentia (village celebrations) and rites of passage. Eventually, in the course of the last century, Cretan music has been transformed from a multilateral, endemic, and participatory folk musical tradition to a staged and recording genre reaching audiences from Crete to the whole world. It is, indubitably, not the same genre as it was before its “industrialization”; however, the various novelties have not as yet affected its deep-rootedness to the place, the people, and the local culture. Reworking Cretanness Our axis towards approaching the phenomenon is placed in the present and is through observing the seeming division of Cretan music into different inclinations, streams, or sub-genres which either submit their loyalty to the conceived folk ethics of this music or work towards a more popular image of the genre; from world music festivals to nightclubs in Athens and Heraklion. We argue that the ways in which locals realize the folk and the popular (often but not always corresponding to the tradition and modernity binary) in Cretan music is not through subscribing artists and musics to the binary but through the development of a categorization system (which is often used as a value system as well) that roughly indicates different inclinations taking place in the lineage of the genre. These inclinations may indeed often be seen as “sub-genres” without yet appearing outside the realm of quotidian talk. They are not to be traced in any record retailers’ shop, neither do most musicians choose to categorize themselves within any of these groups. Before proceeding any further, let us first read an interesting comment by the lyra player Alexandros Papadakis in contemplating the popularization of Cretan music and the role of these inclinations: Cretan music . . . only by the fact that we call it Cretan we categorise it among local musics. Now, whether this genre of local music will be embraced by people who are not from this place, this is something I cannot say for sure. It’s like back in the ’60s and the ’70s where we wouldn’t expect Cretan music to become so popular. Thus, I can’t tell you now whether it’s going to be popular in twenty, thirty or forty years; it may not be. Things show that it

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is going to be because the strength of the Cretan, of Cretan music is that it evolved into different kinds. And the more kinds there are – in the same way as with the different species in nature – the more chances you have that something will survive. It’s because you get greater variation; if a disease strikes one form of it, it won’t get the other. So, possibly Cretan . . . some form of Cretan music will exist in the following years, in the following decades.4 The different “species” of Cretan music – alluded to by Alexandros Papadakis above – constitute a common language among many musicians and audiences in Crete represented by the triptych of paradosiako (“traditional”), skyladiko (“dog song”, i.e. contemporary Greek popular song performed on live stages), and entechno. The first, paradosiako, represents what is subjectively considered as the genuine and undistorted sound of Cretan music. For many this sound is only represented by the recordings of the protomastores and some of their successors. However, the term is mostly used to define artists who exhibit signs of an old-time (paleino) performance style or who pay their respects to the old-time tunes and composers. This category is supposed to represent not only the true sound of Cretan music but also its appropriate performance context in glentia and rites of passage. On the other hand, skyladiko is an attribution that is generally employed to indicate what is bad in the music, from an out-of-context instrumentation choice to an aesthetic disapproval towards the work of a musician (see Frith 2004). Finally, entechno describes musicians and musics that participate in what appears as the intellectual or gentrified side of Cretan music. The category arbitrarily groups artists and musics that depart from the Cretan repertory and performance style and fuse local sounds with other folk musical traditions while often showing a preference towards the concert performance context. The existence of the aforementioned “species” first appeared in print in an article by Pavlopoulou (2006) which aspired to clarify them and to draw distinct lines between their styles and characteristics. This article drew parallels to what many Cretan music artists and audiences may have been thinking about – or perceiving of – the genre. Yet, from our experience in the island, we disagree with the idea – as expressed in Pavlopoulou’s article – of overrelying on these “sub-genres” as a method towards analysing and categorizing Cretan music into different taxonomies. Rather, we believe that the appearance of these categories in quotidian talk is a result of the balance of this music walking on a tightrope between tradition and modernity. They do not categorize music and artists in an objective way; rather they express opinions about the inclinations of Cretan music towards – often substantially – different musical and social practices. Thus, what this discussion about sub-genres or streams indicates – which is indeed to an extent valid yet not terribly useful as an analytical tool – is not a real segregation of Cretan music into distinct sub-genres. Rather, it illustrates the existence of multiple musical influences in the Cretan soundscapes (see Dawe 2007: 131–145) and their reflection on music production and performance. In the field of Cretan music, it is important to remember that not all locals grow up listening to Cretan music, or they may do so as part of a wide selection of choices. Yet another approach to this matter is Kallimopoulou’s (2009) concept of what she defines as “paradosiaká”,5 a term she uses to approach the engagement of outsiders – most of them originating in Greek urban centres – with folk music. Kallimopoulou defines the primary stylistic preferences of this movement towards Greek and Middle Eastern (predominantly Turkish) traditional musics. Although “paradosiaká” do not solely focus on Cretan music, it is important to note that the village of Houdetsi where Ross Daly and his partners have founded and run the Labyrinth musical workshops and concerts is one of the principal centres for the movement throughout Greece. The term “paradosiaká” appears to coincide with the term entechno in the

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way many Cretans use it to describe the work of musicians who they sometimes refer to as followers of the “scholi tou Ross Daly” (Ross Daly’s school). If we were to accept the concept of “paradosiaká” as synonymous with entechno and as a description of the work of “outsiders” in the field of Cretan music, then paradosiako and skyladiko would remain the only musics made by “insiders” and could be conceived of as the two sides of the same coin, say, “good” and “bad” music. The latter part of that approach would not be that distant from the way locals use these terms. However, what locals describe as entechno in Cretan music may often overlap, yet it is not synonymous with the movement of “paradosiaká”. The musicians who may be regarded as participating in the so-called Cretan entechno are often not outsiders, yet they remain open to experimentations in their music; experimentations that may be influenced by “paradosiaká” in the process of incorporating new sounds and practices in the music of their homeland. We should not be overwhelmed with trying to define something as fluid and fast-paced as the nexus of interactions of Cretan music occurring both internally and with the “outside world”. Again, we are looking at most of these categorizations as a process that ethnomusicological studies should not try to define and archive but rather employ as part of their apparatus towards the study of specific practices, musicians, and audiences within the field of Cretan music. Indeed, within the domain of this genre many artists work with the given material in quite different ways. The aforementioned lyra player Alexandros Papadakis offers a fresh perspective to the so-called traditional repertory of Cretan music. He follows a relatively common practice among Cretan musicians: that of performing classic and old repertory but putting his own stamp on its expression and instrumentation and sometimes introducing his own compositions. His recordings and live performances subscribe to the traditional settings of glenti and parea (non-staged participatory performances) underlining the inherent participatory character of the musical tradition. His first record release entitled Kanari Mou (My Canary) emphasizes the relationship between place and music, underlining it with the subtitle Ichochromata tis Eparchias Ag. Vasileiou Rethymnou (Timbres from the Agios Vasilios region, Rethymno Province). In another, quite different case, Dimitris Sideris,6 a laouto player based in the town of Rethymno, approaches Cretan music through a perspective that is often quite distinct from the glenti and parea performance style. He does not subscribe to the “one-place-one-music” logic and submits his own experience and idiosyncrasy in his musical expression by combining timbres, techniques, and approaches that are often foreign to Cretan music. He is one of the members of Daulute, a world music band that experiments with the sound and repertory of the Cretan musical tradition. He also plays the laouto in a second, this time progressivepsychedelic, experimental band called Babel Trio featuring the apparently first electric laouto as a solo instrument. Through his bands as well as through other enterprises, he participates in and approaches the Cretan musical tradition through a prism that contains elements of different and popular musics of the world. Within a quite different sphere of activities, Dimitris has also been a member of a band led by the lyra player Dimitris Sgouros who in 2011 released a CD box set containing some very interesting interpretations of nineteenth-century Cretan music transcriptions collected by the ethnographer Pavlos Vlastos (see Discography). Finally, Zacharis Spyridakis7 is one of the most respected lyra performers in Crete. He studied the lyra with the highly esteemed lyra player Kostas Mountakis in Athens and has practised his performance skills in concerts and venues around Greece and the world. He was a leading member of the Paleina Seferia, a band performing Cretan music and often categorized in the entechno side of the genre. Zacharis has a deep knowledge of the Cretan musical tradition and

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stresses the importance of musical collaborations with other cultures for which he finds Western classical training to be a valuable means for intercultural communication. Nevertheless, he considers that the contexts of glenti and parea represent a very different world of musicality from what he is used to, and admires the local musicians and their demonstration of social and musical skills in their performances. The list goes on with seminal and influential works of other and well-known artists such as Antonis Xylouris (Psarantonis), Giorgis Xylouris (Psarogiorgis), Giorgos Manolakis, Vasilis Stavrakakis, Stelios Petrakis, Giannis Haroulis, Georgia Dagaki, Michalis Tzouganakis, and Giorgos and Nikos Stratakis. Other and perhaps even more commercially successful musicians such as Manolis Kontaros, Nikos Zoidakis, and Giorgos Zervakis propose a different approach with performances in nightclubs or other venues in the urban centres of Greece, promoting – and perhaps shaping – a familiar image that corresponds to the Cretan glenti, incorporating virtuosic solos, stereotypical or funny lyrics, and, more often than not, displays of the familiar and stereotypical image of a Cretan highlander. We could describe Cretan music as a “meta-folk” genre; historically a continuation of a folk tradition into today’s modern modes of music production. Yet, synchronically, the tradition maintains its folk characteristics and evolves by addressing audiences that vary from young Cretans to people from outside Crete, or even outside Greece; for example, in 2015 the aforementioned Xylouris White ensemble performed numerous gigs in 16 countries, including Britain, France, the USA, Canada, and Australia (see Xylouris White 2016). Local musicians approach Cretan music in often substantially different ways. They continue to develop their skills within a predominantly multicultural environment and suggest new approaches to the music of their homeland, a practice that constantly redefines what is considered “traditional” or “genuine”. Regardless of whether Cretan music is “trendy” – as many Cretan musicians and audiences believe – it proves a very versatile vehicle for expressing the musical needs of both older and younger generations of Cretans. The different faces, inclinations, and perceptions of Cretan music may eventually develop a new musical sound that could, perhaps, redefine it into a less geographically oriented but nevertheless still a popular genre. Whatever the future holds, the lyra-laouto ensemble throws questions of “folk” and “popular” classifications into relief, as it appears to be a combination of both categories, whether in Greek or English. Notes 1 2 3 4 5 6 7

Literally, “the first masters” with reference to the first recording musicians of the genre. The term was established following the rerelease of a compilation of their recordings on 331⁄3 rpm records during the 1980s. See Discography for the compact disk box set version. As with his album “Mirologia” (Laments) based on material from traditional Cretan laments (see Discography). See Herzfeld (1985: 63–67) for an outline and analysis of a village square circular performance. Alexandros Papadakis. Personal interview with Ioannis Papadatos, October 17, 2012. Paradosiaká is the plural form of paradosiako (traditional), yet it is attributed with a different meaning in Kallimopoulou’s book (Kallimopoulou 2009). We will use this term in quotation marks to avoid any confusion. Dimitris Sideris. Personal interview with Ioannis Papadatos, January 30, 2014. Zacharis Spyridakis. Personal interview with Ioannis Papadatos, September 7, 2013.

Bibliography Anoyianakis, Fivos. 1991. Greek Popular Musical Instruments. Athens: Melissa Publishing. Benjamin, Walter. 1999 [1968]. “The Work of Art in the Age of Mechanical Reproduction.” In Illuminations, ed. Hannah Arendt. London: Pimlico, pp. 211–244. Cowan, Jane. 1990. Dance and the Body Politic in Northern Greece. Princeton, NJ: Princeton University Press.

190 • Ioannis Papadatos and Kevin Dawe Dawe, Kevin. 2007. Music and Musicians in Crete: Performance and Ethnography in a Mediterranean Island Society. Lanham, MD, and Plymouth: Scarecrow Press. Dawe, Kevin. 2009. “The Woven World: The Mainstream and the Alternative in Greek Popular Music.” In Ashgate Research Companion in Popular Musicology, ed. Derek B. Scott. Farnham: Ashgate, pp. 243–258. Frith, Simon. 2004. “What is Bad Music?” In Bad Music: The Music We Love to Hate, ed. Christopher J. Washburne and Maiken Derno. New York, London: Routledge, pp. 11–26. Herzfeld, Michael. 1985. The Poetics of Manhood: Contest and Identity in a Cretan Mountain Village. Princeton, NJ: Princeton University Press. Herzfeld, Michael. 1986 [1982]. Ours Once More: Folklore, Ideology, and the Making of Modern Greece. New York: Pella Publishing. Herzfeld, Michael. 1987 [1982]. Anthropology through the Looking Glass: Critical Ethnography in the Margins of Europe. Cambridge: Cambridge University Press. Kallimopoulou, Eleni. 2009. Paradosiaká: Music, Meaning and Identity in Modern Greece. Aldershot: Ashgate. Keil, Charles. 1984. “Music Mediated and Live in Japan.” Ethnomusicology 28(1): 91–96. Middleton, Richard. 1990. Studying Popular Music. Milton Keynes: Open University Press. Moore, Allan. 2012. Song Means: Analysing and Interpreting Recorded Song. Farnham: Ashgate. Pashley, Robert. 1837. Travels in Crete, Vol. One. Cambridge: John Murray. Pavlopoulou, Argyro. 2006. “Paradosi kai ‘Meta-paradosiakes’ Taseis stin Mousiki tis Kritis.” Tetradia Mousiki Ichos & Topos: Ta Keimena 1: 81–91. Slobin, Mark. 2011. Folk Music: A Very Short Introduction. New York: Oxford University Press. Sykäri, Venla. 2011. Words as Events. Helsinki: Finnish Literature Society. Xylouris White. 2016. “Xylouris White | Past Shows.” Available at www.xylouriswhite.com/past-shows-2016 (accessed October 3, 2016).

Discography Alefantinoi. Kritikos kyklos. Cretaphon CRET-1014, 1985, compact disc. Alexandros Papadakis. Kanari Mou. Aerakis S.A. 702, 2007, compact disc. Athens 2004 Olympic Games, directed by Dimitris Papaioannou. Victory S.A. 2004, 4 DVDs. Daemonia Nymphe. Krataia Asterope. Prikosnovénie PRIK 106, 2007, compact disc. Daulute. Strovilos. Independent release, 2015, compact disc. Dimitris Sgouros. Skopoi kai Tragoudia tis Kritis 1860–1910 Apo to Archeio tou Pavlou Vlastou. Aegis (no catalogue number), 2011, 3 compact discs and DVD. Giorgis Xylouris; Giagos Heretis; Giannis Agelakas; Nikos Veliotis. Oso ki an dernei o anemos. Alltogethernow ATN CD 005, 2012, compact disc. Loudovikos ton Anogion. Moirologia. Sirius SMH-85.005, 1985, 331⁄3 rpm. Oi Protomástores. Aerakis S.A. – 540, 1994, 10 compact discs. Ross Daly. Music of Crete. FM Records FM1697, 2004, compact disc. Xylouris White. Goats. Other Music Recording Co. OM-015-1, 2014, compact disc. Yannis Markopoulos, Nikos Xylouris. Rizitika. Columbia SCXG 69, 1971, 331⁄3 rpm.

14 “Dedicated to the Jamaica of Greece!” Inventing Tradition, Copyrighting Place, and World Music Transformations of an Island Folk Dance Panayotis Panopoulos

Introduction In a recent (2014) TV advertisement for a Greek brand of beer (Mythos), which is mostly popular among foreign tourists probably due to its recognizably Greek name, we watch, in condensed form, a stereotypical scenario of collective goodwill overcoming unexpected setbacks. Hundreds of people are dancing on a mountain plateau at a kind of local feast (panigyri), but a sudden storm with heavy rain creates a transient sense of panic, local musicians run away (one covering his head with his ud!), and the celebration seems to be over, until somebody (a makeshift “hero” of the collectivity, clearly a visitor to the area) decides to intervene and, using a bottle of beer as a sound instrument, reinvigorates the disturbed rhythm of the feast and initiates the dance once again. As we see people dancing in a spiraling circle to the music of a popular folk tune, a young male voice intones over the image of two sweating, ice-cold bottles of beer: “Despite the mishap we keep on going. This is our power! This is our myth (Mythos)!”1 The dancetune is ikariotikos and gives to the many of the details in this short spot a very special meaning, while it specifies the target group of the advertisement on the part of its creators. It explains why the feast does not feel exactly like a typical Greek local feast, but is an alternative kind of the “original” genre, with several post-hippie elements of fashion and attire and certain performance peculiarities which are easily recognizable to a young Greek audience. The place is (supposed to be) the island of Ikaria, close to the east coast of the Aegean sea, and the way of doing things and reacting to the facts of life are (supposed to be) specifically ikariot, or, one could say, even more “authentically” ikariot than Ikaria itself, since the visitors are capable of recognizing, evaluating, and putting to good use all the crucial elements of “traditional” culture and attitude, the “local” knowledge, which might be forgotten or underestimated by the locals, in order to respond dynamically and creatively to an unexpected mishap, namely a change in the weather. It requires a very short step of the mind to see all this as a comment on the processes of recovering from the current economic, social, and cultural crisis in Greece and Europe.2 The place where this ideal scenario takes place is a recent summertime utopia made up of a land and dreams, people and fantasies, reality and imagination. The web of meanings woven around the signifier “Ikaria” in the past three to four decades consists of a rich and meandering

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rhetoric concerning an alternative and uncompromised rather sui generis perception of time affluence and a relaxed way of living, an elaborate discourse about a place where slow tempos, cool rhythms, and a genuine conviviality are the norm, as opposed to the programming of life everywhere else, or the prearranged holiday experiences provided by tourist packages and the wider tourist industry around the world. This discourse, partly an indigenous construction and partly a deliberate product of the media and tourist industry, has served over the years both as a symbol of local identity and a visitor’s fitting fantasy of a unique summer experience: two sides of the same coin. It draws upon a rich array of historical and geographical elements to create narrative and symbolic associations; it includes remoteness, isolation, and the lack of enough land for cultivation, the dispersion of settlements over wide areas, the continuous threat of pirates in medieval times, a short period of independence in 1912, a longer period after World War II during which the island was used by the authoritarian Greek state as a place of exile for communists, a widely publicized high life expectancy, and much more. Both the people of Ikaria and visitors alike, at some point in their lives, will probably articulate and elaborate on at least some points of this discourse, its agents, ideas, relations, and actions. This chapter documents and analyzes some of the uses and transformations of Aegean island tunes in general and ikariotikos in particular, both in terms of the cultural politics of place and belonging, and the deterritorialized field of “world music”, relating stories of exchange, tension, and opposition, mutuality and feedback, between the local, the regional, the national and the global, tradition and (post-) modernity, the past, the present, and the future of emplaced/displaced music recordings and performances. Ikariotikos will be used here as a starting point and a prism for viewing the different levels in the symbolic uses of local music and song in the Aegean islands and beyond. In one of the latest turns of our narrative, Ikaria will be eloquently and not unexpectedly described as “the Jamaica of Greece”. This provisional closing of a circle was my motive in telling this story. Starting in 1992, I have conducted anthropological fieldwork on music, song, and dance in the Aegean islands; in 1992 and 1993, long-term fieldwork in the village of Philoti, Naxos island on sound, singing, gender, and local identity (Panopoulos 1996, 2005, 2014), as well as shortterm fieldwork in the Raches area, Ikaria on the cultural politics and rhetoric concerning time. Both the time and the particular places of my field research have stamped my ethnographic view/interpretation and they partly explain some of the priorities and limitations in the material provided and discussed in this chapter. Research on the internet was mainly conducted for a period of six months during the spring and summer of 2012 and in the summer of 2014. Entering the Dance Ikariotikos, or ikariotiko, is the name of a readily recognizable folk dance tune/song relating to the island of Ikaria.3 Today, this name signifies an array of various versions, arrangements, transcriptions, orchestrations, and remixes in many different styles, played, heard, and danced to in different contexts and venues, from local summer feasts to huge urban nightclubs. The tune has received nationwide popularity since its arrangement, performance, and record release in the early 1980s by Giorgos Konitopoulos, a folk violin player/composer from the island of Naxos, in the Cyclades, and Giannis Parios, a singer of love ballads with national fame and island (Paros, Cyclades) origin.4 Konitopoulos and Parios were also central agents in the creation and nationwide dissemination and establishment of the so-called “island song” (nisiotiko tragoudi), a very successful invented tradition of folk song, music, and dance, which transcended

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the boundaries of the islands and islanders’ migrant communities in the cities to become a generic Greek popular genre during the 1980s and 1990s. The success of the Konitopoulos’ arranged version has instigated heated debates in the Aegean islands, especially the Cyclades, on the commercial manipulation and exploitation of folk tunes and on the supposedly primeval quality of “authentic” local versions/variations, which became a main concern of local cultural politics, raising wider issues over “collective copyright” on a village, island, or regional level, and the use of “local heritage” in the case of folk poetry, music, and dance. Folk tunes and ikariotikos have further acquired the status of key symbols of belonging in processes of revitalizing traditions and reinvigorating local customs and rituals which characterized national public discourse and local cultural politics in Greece during the 1980s and 1990s (Panopoulos 2005; cf. Boissevain 1992). It was in this context that Ikaria acquired a very special place in the national and tourist imagination of idealized local cultural niches. Listening and dancing to the ikariotikos gradually became synonymous with the celebration of a distinctively ikariot way of living, perceived as an exceptional experience of coolness and relaxed mood. Ikariotikos has recently been played, arranged, and adapted by several bands of various styles and aspirations. These bands draw from a rich gamut of music and cultural sources, mixing a wide variety of influences, from local, folk, ethnic, pop, and reggae to electronica, dub, rap, and fusion. Earlier recordings are sampled and reused over dance beats, breaks, and other sound sources, tunes, or rhythmic patterns are reproduced by musicians playing “traditional” or modern instruments, and/or using all kinds of electronic media. The use of ikariotikos in these cases is layered with the rhetoric of localized cultural ideals, as well as several other “Mediterranean”, “Balkan”, and “oriental” cultural elements and stereotypes, and/or a nationalistic rhetoric, to create new musical hybrids and cultural performances of a “world music” aesthetics. “World music” is anything but a simple, descriptive term. Far from being a neutral, allencompassing definition of the creation, circulation, and consumption of “folk”, “ethnic”, “traditional” or “exotic” (“other”) kinds of music, “world music” is, according to Steven Feld, “a label of industrial origin that refers to an amalgamated global marketplace of sounds as ethnic commodities” (Feld 2012: 40). Feld has given a critical spin to Murray Schafer’s term “schizophonia”, originally referring to the splitting of sounds from their sources, to include wider processes “where sound recordings move into long- and short-term routes of circulation and patterns of consumption” (ibid.: 41). These processes produce and sustain two rich and complex narratives: an anxious narrative focusing on inequalities and exploitation, and a celebratory narrative that “sees musical hybridity and fusion as cultural signs of unbounded and deterritorialized identities” (ibid.), a celebration of freedom, equality, and antiessentialism. Far from being contradictory perspectives, though, “embedded in both anxious and celebratory narratives of world music is a fraught cultural politics of nostalgia, that is, each is deeply linked to the management of loss and renewal in the modern world” (ibid.: 42; cf. Feld 1996, 2000). As we will see, there are important similarities and some interesting differences in the uses of “sounds as ethnic commodities” in the “world music” industry, on the one hand, and the Greek case, on the other. The commercial stake seems to be not as high in the Greek case, but some special ethnographic issues are raised. The “long- and short-term routes of circulation” involve families, villages, islands, regions, as well as the nation and virtual space, while cultural politics at all levels layer “anxious and celebratory narratives” and “nostalgia” with crucial issues of identity and belonging in the face of transformations in national and international power relations and politics.

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Aegean Routes One of the most successful commercial productions of the Greek dance/electronica scene in the past decade was the release of the first CD of the band palyrria (sic) in 2004. This is a very characteristic example of what we could describe as “Greek world fusion”, since the musical/sound material of the record consists of various tunes, melodies, rhythmic patterns, instruments, and samples coming not from different parts of the world, but rather from various local musical expressions within Greece (as well as some elements from the wider Eastern Mediterranean and the Balkans), mixed with typical rhythmic patterns and loops of an international dance/electronica scene. The second track of the record, for example, under the characteristic title “Kakavia Express”, uses elements of a polyphonic song from the Epirus region of northern Greece and southern Albania, where the Kakavia border post of the Greek–Albanian border is located. We can trace similar musical fusions in most of the other tracks as well: “Isodaoulo”, “Pentadaktylos Dub”, “Elektrokeras”, “Sadam?”. One of these tracks, with a characteristically “hybrid” name and aesthetics, is “Ikariotikos (dry mix)”. Yet, in this case, there is a difference; contrary to all the other tracks on the record, the composition of “Ikariotikos (dry mix)” is attributed to an individual composer. In the CD sleeve-notes we read (concerning the whole CD): “Conceived + arranged + produced by: palyrriaexcepttr: 05 [“Ikariotikos (dry mix)”] composed by G Konitopoulos based on a traditional theme” [English in original]. Inventing Tradition: The “Island Songs” Giorgos Konitopoulos, the musician to whom the composition of “Ikariotikos (dry mix)” is attributed, is considered to be the most prominent exponent of (one could even say that his name is identified with) the so-called “island song” (nisiotiko tragoudi). The establishment of the “island song” genre was based on the release, in 1982, of a double LP record entitled Ta Nisiotika (The Island Songs) by the Greek multinational record label MINOS-EMI. The record owed its success partly to the popularity of the singer Giannis Parios, whose origin and pseudonym reflected an “island identity”, and the characteristic violin sound and technique of Giorgos Konitopoulos, who was also the composer/arranger of the songs. Giorgos Konitopoulos (1933– 1991) is the most famous member of a well-known family of musicians from the village of Kynidaros, Naxos (Kefalliniadis 1995), a musical family that has shaped the sound and the specific character of nisiotiko tragoudi, by homogenizing different musical and poetic elements from the islands and producing an easily recognizable sound of (mainly female) singing and violin solos, the wide dissemination and success of which were based on its appealing melodic line and rhythmic elements that invited people to dance. Konitopoulos registered a trademark for his arrangements of most of the well-known island tunes, assuring copyright over his creations, whether they were original or arrangements/ transcriptions of songs from Naxos and other Aegean islands, based on the fact that copyright, according to both Greek and international law, refers to original, self-contained works by individual creators, while in the case of collective artistic expressions copyright is attributed to individual “arrangers”. Copyrighting Place: Disputes over Property Rights on Song in Naxos During the 1990s in the villages of highland Naxos, local authorities, cultural associations, and other agents of collective representation and action were involved in heated and controversial

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debates over local culture and the demarcation of cultural boundaries. Central among them were the debates over copyright issues, the musical and poetic “heritage” of the villages taken as collective agents of “authentic” cultural production and performance. Some aspects of those controversial debates were interpenetrated with wider and hot political issues of the period, like the various activities of migrants’ cultural associations in the villages and the so-called “Ioannis Kapodistrias Masterplan”, promoted by the Greek government and the European Union, concerning the unification of village communities in wider intercommunal municipalities. One of the things I had to explain again and again to my interlocutors during my long-term fieldwork in Naxos in the early 1990s was why I had chosen the village of Philoti for my fieldwork instead of the village of Apeiranthos (or Aperathou), which, according to the rich symbolic geography of the island (Stewart 1991; Panopoulos 1994), is identified with “culture” and “tradition”. Therefore, it is no coincidence that the Konitopoulos family also claimed some kind of origin, identification, or relationship with this important symbolic cradle which was often met with sarcasm on the part of the Aperathites, the people of Apeiranthos. The main idioms through which this relationship was retrieved and expressed were kinship relations and family origin, on the one hand, and male friendship, on the other (Kefalliniadis 1995: 63–64; cf. Panopoulos 1996, 2005). On their part, the Aperathites deeply disapproved of all forms of claiming bonds for their village by members of the Konitopoulos family, considering them to be nothing but an immoral attempt on the part of the Konitopoulos family to appropriate a rich repository of local tradition. In the “local” press of Apeiranthos (newspapers and magazines published in Naxos and Athens by migrants), we would read many extremely sarcastic and outraged allegations against the “thief” or the “master thief” of the musical tradition of Apeiranthos, either naming or implicating Giorgos Konitopoulos; those articles also included accusations by musicians who originated from Apeiranthos and who contended that they were not permitted to make recordings of the songs of their own village if they would not agree to state that they were compositions by “someone named Konitopoulos”.5 The ongoing and unresolved dispute of Apeiranthos as a collective agent with the Konitopoulos family was complemented, in the early 1990s, by a similar dispute with another village, Philoti, over collective cultural property rights. This dispute was triggered by the publication of an article entitled “The traditional song in Philoti, Naxos” in the first issue of O Zas; that is, the journal of the Association of Philotites living in Athens. The article outraged the publisher and the regular contributors to the journal T’Aperathou (Apeiranthos), who commented on its content using extremely sarcastic and provocative language, while they also invited the local scholars of Philoti to respond to the provocation. In their responses, the Philotites were part condescending, part conciliatory, and part sarcastic concerning the accusations of the Aperathites that the Philotites had stolen their songs and tunes. The dispute continued for some time, including implications connecting the local level with crucial national and international controversies of the era: the “theft” of the songs at this particular moment was related by one of the Aperathites to the notorious “theft” of the Greek national insignia by the so-called “Skopjians” (that is, the people of the Republic of Macedonia), perhaps the hottest issue of Greek international politics in the 1990s (Danforth 1995; cf. Sutton 1998). Singing the “Ioannis Kapodistrias Masterplan” Controversy The opposition between the two villages is long and deep-seated, and it has been expressed in many different ways across time (Stewart 1991; Panopoulos 1994). By the end of the 1990s,

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it was to take a new direction and acquire further strength. In 1997, public debate concerning the unification of local communities in wider intercommunal municipalities was coming to an end. This municipal unification program, a European Union project, was known as the “Ioannis Kapodistrias Masterplan” in Greece, after the name of the first Governor of Greece back in 1830. According to the specifications of this program, Naxos island would be reorganized administratively into one, two, or three large municipalities that would merge and substitute the old municipalities of the island, which were mainly based on village-centered administrative units. In Apeiranthos, as one would expect, there emerged a strong movement for the municipal autonomy of the village, in the name of its cultural uniqueness. Collective copyright issues, along with older oppositions and controversies, were revitalized in the municipal unification debate. Apeiranthos and Philoti were, finally, included in the same municipality, while the first elected mayor was from Philoti. Some of the songs improvised on the night of the elections in Apeiranthos have elegantly captured the ambivalences produced by the new conditions of merging and disputing traditional social and cultural units, boundaries, and oppositions in local politics, referring to collective cultural property rights over music and song. In the journal T’Aperathou, one would later read bitter comments on the Philotites celebrating “their victory” in Apeiranthos and appropriating the “elections’ tune” of Apeiranthos, the tune being an apt metonymy of the village’s stolen identity. The television broadcasted The victory of Philoti, Sung on the elections’ tune Which now belongs to them. We gave them the victory And our tune is now their tune. Since we have managed To give them the first position The elections’ tune as well Now belongs to Philoti. And the Philotite [new] mayor Inside Stamatogiannis’ coffee-shop* With all his company Is celebrating his victory. He is celebrating in our village Which does not belong to us anymore. * located in Apeiranthos’ main square.

In her contribution to an anthropological debate on “exploitable knowledge” organized by Marilyn Strathern, Manuela Carneiro da Cunha contends:

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My point is that cultural appropriation debates are ways for dispossessed peoples to phrase claims for power. What is at stake is the authority to define, to represent, to keep or to dispose of, in a word, for lack of a better word, agency. (Strathern et al. 1998: 115) In the case of the villages of Naxos, collective property claims over local poetry and music tunes do not represent demands for recognition of rights in a globalized market exploiting local cultural expressions. Cultural claims in this case have neither an institutional nor a commercial character, but they constitute fields of contending and negotiating crucial local identities and boundaries in a changing world of national and international politics, and they stand as powerful idioms of belonging and emplacement. The symbolic emphasis on the “village”, in this case, manifests the primacy of this particular social and cultural unit in asserting political autonomy and collectivity, in the face of a crucial reorganization of political representation and agency under conditions imposed by national and EU policies (cf. Papataxiarchis 2001;Panopoulos 2005). A village’s collective copyright claims over persons, families, or other villages were reinforced when important identity boundaries were degraded, when the village as a unit of political administration and a social entity was weakened and multiply threatened. It is interesting that, although on the level of administrative reorganization the views expressed were often quite conciliatory and pragmatic, on the level of cultural claims one would usually hear the most extreme and purist rhetoric. From Ikariotikos to Kariotiko, and Beyond Disputes between the Konitopoulos family and Apeiranthos or between Apeiranthos and Philoti over property rights on music and song offer a paradigmatic case of the complex dynamics in collective identity construction and negotiation in the Cyclades and the Aegean during the 1980s and 1990s, in the face of the “booming” of “island songs”. The people of Ikaria faced similar dilemmas and proposed solutions that had to take into account both earlier local controversies and historical contingencies. The rapid tourist development of the island during that period had triggered complex processes of reassessing and reinventing local identity and island singularity. The island attracted tourists looking for an alternative destination, away from the popular itineraries of summer vacations. The island’s recent leftist history, being an exile place for communists, and a growing fame of late-hours celebrating and never-ending feasts fueled the construction of a unique cultural identity which was worth discovering. The island also had its own dance that visitors had heard or heard of, mainly through Konitopoulos’ arrangement. At the beginning they didn’t know how to dance it properly, but little by little they were integrated into the local feasts, which gradually became huge tourist attractions. Local musicians in Ikaria used to play several different versions of ikariotikos or, as they used to call it, kariotiko. This slight difference in naming, from male to neuter and lacking an [i] in the beginning, gives a rather intimate tone to the dance and a sense of mutual understanding to all those who “know what they are talking about”, no matter whether they are Ikariots or (regular) visitors to the island. Thus, the “local” name and versions became symbols of authenticity and a reinvigorated sense of belonging, as opposed to the “corrupted”, “diluted”, and “superficial” arrangement of Konitopoulos. Although the popularity of the arranged tune has added to the popularity of the island and vice versa, a counter-movement of refusing to recognize the legitimacy of Konitopoulos’ version readily gained support in Ikaria. Next to the standardized Konitopoulos’

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arrangement sung by Giannis Parios, different versions of “real” (i)kariotikoi (plural) were revitalized and given prominence at ikariot feasts by local musicians and dancers. Along with the Konitopoulos’ ikariotikos, which maintained its popularity in certain circles and contexts, music lovers, connoisseurs, and certain tourists would now turn to older, slower, more sophisticated, and “deeper” versions, which gradually received more attention and became synonymous with the “real” feeling of an ikariot way of life and ecstatic collective dancing and feasting. The precedence of kariotiko in local feasts in Ikaria was gradually well established. In the “making of” footage for the Mythos TV spot mentioned in the introduction to this chapter, people dance the kariotiko, played by local musicians; yet, the Konitopoulos ikariotikos finds its way into the final advertisement. Konitopoulos seems to win at this point in the national media arena. Web Routes By the time the ikariotikos had started a new life as a tune/sample in contemporary electronica/dance music in the mid-2000s, two main versions, Konitopoulos’ standard arrangement and a revitalized local standard, were firmly established. Proponents of the “authentic” kariotiko would definitively oppose the use of the term ikariotikos to refer to anything but the local standard, since the local versions “came first” and, therefore, they are the “real thing”. In the line of argumentation proposed in this chapter, I try to articulate a rather different perspective, unraveling the role of (i)kariotiko(s) as a symbol of local identity and belonging, but also trying to assess the dynamic transformations in the meanings of Ikaria and ikariotikos, as well as their displaced development in the contemporary Greek cultural imagination. The list of ikariotikos live performances, arrangements, transcriptions, and remixes is quite long. It includes popular singers of national or even international reputation, like Dimitra Galani or Eleftheria Arvanitaki (featuring palyrria’s version), national pop stars, such as Despina Vandi and many others, and second-rate pop stars and DJs, like Stelios Maximos or Alan Hadgis. More examples can be handily retrieved from youtube.com. In what follows, we will examine some of these more recent ikariotikoi. pallyrria/Greek World Fusion In their first CD, released in 2004, the aforementioned band palyrria created a kind of fusion of Greek traditional music elements, along with elements taken from Eastern Mediterranean and Balkan musical traditions. A revitalized interest in “traditional” (paradosiaki) music already had a history of two decades in urban Greece, especially among young people who learned to play older, often neglected, instruments and studied music in Turkey, looking for a fresh approach to a kind of music (dimotika, “folk songs”) that had fallen into disgrace during the years of the military dictatorship of 1967 to 1974. The so-called “traditional” (paradosiaka), the “new” term used to describe this developing field of musical expertise, exerted a significant influence over different kinds of music-making and reinvigorated discussions on national identity and culture during the years of metapolitefsi (polity change), the post-1974 period of Greek political life (Kallimopoulou 2009). By introducing G. Konitopoulos’ ikariotikos to their “Electro_Dub_Techno_Traditional Greek Music”, palyrria had unexpectedly achieved the success they had probably never expected. In the words of one band member:

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Ikariotikos is one of these unbelievable circumstances, when while you may have spent four months working on the piece Kakavia Express, you spend just five days to make Ikariotikos, which finally takes all the airplay [English orig.] of the record! It is also quite remarkable that beyond our mood as a band the piece was so perfectly adapted to all this celebratory climate, the Olympic Games [in Athens, 2004], the live performances in the public squares of Athens, etc. I only went to a tennis match and I heard Ikariotikos twice inside OAKA! [the Olympic Games’ central athletic field]. Let alone the fact that it was widely broadcasted by the Radio Stations! It has probably expressed 100% all this feeling [English orig.] of the Greeks in that particular period! It would be interesting to see the reactions of people abroad, when they play the record, they pay attention to every single piece, except Ikariotikos, which they just pass over, since they are not so familiar to listening to it as we are.6 This mixture of global music elements with tunes, orchestrations, and lyrics which can only be recognized at the local level, a dry mix or fusion of the most widely recognized characteristics with more culturally intimate ones (Herzfeld 1997), is the idiosyncratic musical “glocalization” promoted by palyrria, who are nevertheless always ready to recognize that music from Sulawesi (Indonesia) sounds identical to the “Pano Horos” (Upper Dance) from Olympos, Karpathos (Greece).7 In their more recent piece and videoclip, “Pyrovasia 1208” (Firewalking 1208), they collaborated with MC Yinka, one of the most prominent MCs of the Greek rap scene, to create a musical and visual pastiche of firewalking in the Greek religious healing cult of the Anastenaria (Danforth 1989), a pagan ecstatic religion as social protest and straight references to the dynamism of violent political demonstrations during the Greek crisis.8 In live performances of ikariotikos by palyrria, MC Yinka raps lyrics on Ikaria as being an ideal place for celebrating, drinking, and dancing until morning.9 Locomondo/“Flying Carpet” Perhaps the most popular contemporary dance remix of ikariotikos, along with palyrria’s 2004 version, is that of Locomondo, the most successful among Greek reggae bands. In their promotion videoclip “This is Locomondo 2011”, the first song presents a musical/ideological manifesto: The West and the East Ai li lilili, ai li lilili Are weaving a carpet So YOU can dance on it Ai li lilili, ai li lilili Magic carpet.10 The “magic/flying carpet” stands for the Eastern folk-tale element in an East/West fusion, where the West is interestingly represented by Jamaica and the Caribbean. After the song’s Greek lyrics, there usually follows a change of music climate, with a relatively straightforward quote from a famous “island song”, which finally turns reggae, in an outbreak of globalized fantasy: Inna da Balkan they use it Mix it up with Jamaican music

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Try it once don’t you refuse it Try it twice don’t you confuse it In every way.11 According to the Locomondo’s official site’s main page, “the band . . . fuses Reggae, Ska and Carribean sounds with Greek traditional musical elements”. This is a rather eloquent statement concerning the balance and types of various influences in their music and performance; musical “sounds” come from the Caribbean, while some secondary “elements” are Greek traditional. Further on, we read: “Locomondo is the most known Reggae band in Greece, as well as the only Greek group that has recorded in Jamaica. . . . The album [they recorded in Jamaica] contained two songs that meant to be great hits in Greece, but also attracted attention beyond the Greek borders. The first was a reggae cover of the Rembetiko song Frangosyriani composed in 1935 by the legendary Markos Vamvakaris. . . . In the album “Me Wanna Dance” and “Gamilio Party” [Wedding Party], the band used a great variety of Greek traditional musical instruments such as buzuki, baglama, violin, Gaida, Tsampouna [Greek bagpipe], Kaval, Santouri, Cretan Lyra and Laud which gave the Caribbean sound a special Mediterranean touch”. (English original, original orthography, emphasis in original)12 In a rather expected turn of this “loco mondo”, a jump to “the Jamaica of Greece” is celebrated in their live performances, as in a clip from one of their concerts the singer of the band exclaims just before starting to play ikariotikos: “Dedicated to the Jamaica of Greece!”,13 thus turning the Aegean into a Caribbean of the Mediterranean. In their recent “official audio release”, a version of local kariotiko is preferred,14 while in other clips we find mixtures of Konitopoulos’ ikariotikos with “Lambada”.15 DJ Pantelis Features Teodora and Teddy Georgo/Balkan Nationalisms In 2006, Thessaloniki-based DJ Pantelis, promoted as the “Balkans’ Most Wanted DJ”, made a remix of ikariotikos with Bulgarian chalga, a folk-pop genre developed and popularized in postsocialist Bulgaria (see e.g. Kurkela 2007). Featuring chalga singer Teodora and Bulgarian DJ Teddy Georgo, the “OPA (My Ikariotiko)” videoclip abounds in images of sexual provocation, expensive cars, excessive nightclub entertainment, luxuriance, and voluptuousness.16 DJ Pantelis’ remixes in the 2000s were often based on popular music elements from various Balkan countries, gangsta rap, and international house music in order to appeal to different nationalistic young audiences across the Balkans (“Macedonia is Greek” (2006), “Put your Hands Up for Belgrade” (2009)). His ikariotikos remix triggered many offensive comments in youtube.com on the origin, nationality, and authenticity of the music. Andriana Babali/Political Ballad Andriana Babali, a singer of pop ballads, recorded the CD O John John Zei (John John is Alive) in 2010 (Minos-EMI). It includes a song which uses, as its refrain, lyrics from Konitopoulos’ ikariotikos. The song is also named after a very characteristic word from those lyrics:

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“Periplanomeno” (Wandering). The song, composed by Stamos Semsis with original lyrics by Nikos Moraitis, addresses, mainly in the second person, the migrants and refugees coming to Greece and Europe having endured long journeys and incredible dangers and adversities, being exploited by networks of traffickers, only to find distrust and rejection when, and if, they finally manage to reach their promised shore.17 The Konitopoulos ikariotikos lyrics come from a time when the experience of internal and international migration was a central and devastating issue in the lives of persons and families of Greeks migrating from the countryside to the cities or to other countries: I am [someone who is] roaming for years and years Like a wandering bird In solitude, in a foreign place, Which I can’t stand anymore. In this mixture of pop-singing style with some contemporary reverberations and a possible implicit reassessment of the “political song” tradition that flourished in Greece in the post-Junta era, as well as with a popular “traditional” song, an interesting hybrid is created, which acquires its new range of signification through this series of meaningful juxtapositions. According to the lyricist of “Periplanomeno”: Who wrote these words [ikariotikos], which go counter to the dance steps? Someone lost somewhere in time. A Greek migrant in a foreign place. Or someone “burned” by the migration of his own people. Then, coming to his own lyrics: They were lost and the water Brought them up to here Stray, without any papers With dry faces. The foreigners. And then, us, opposite them. I was a foreigner as well Before I become a boss Before I build and make myself up Before I learn to forget. I was a foreigner, but You are the foreigner now And as you live next to me You disturb my day. The stab, though, still comes from the opposition with the refrain of Ikariotikos. That Greek migrant “who can’t stand it [the foreign place] anymore” and the contemporary Greek property owner “who can’t stand them [the migrants] anymore in his territory”.18

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Conclusion In the musical documentary film Whose is this Song? (2003) by Adela Peeva and in Donna Buchanan’s introductory chapter to the volume she edited on Balkan Popular Culture and the Ottoman Ecumene (Buchanan 2007), tracing the ethnic, linguistic, religious and local life and transformations of a particular tune in Ottoman Balkan history and the present becomes the vehicle for unraveling cultural, social, and political osmoses and oppositions, historical contingencies, long-durée processes of mutuality and exchange, conflict and hatred, with the two authors using different accents and emphases in their presentations. In this chapter, I have drawn inspiration from these and other works mentioned above in order to approach the life and transformations of a Greek folk island dance tune/song over the past three to four decades. I have tried to explain that this journey should neither start nor end on the island of Ikaria itself. I have proposed a narrative reconstitution of the social and cultural life and transformations of ikariotikos that involved different places and levels of signification. Moving from the “island songs” of Konitopoulos and Parios to cultural property rights issues in the villages of highland Naxos, from a discussion of naming ((i)kariotiko(s)) to the dynamics of belonging and the construction of a unique locality, from revitalized “traditional” music to reggae remixes and Balkan folk pop, from displaced imagination to localized desires, I have tried to show the wide range of issues and the complex processes involved in the life and transformations of a Greek popular dance tune of local claim, national fame, and global fantasy. Although the various (i)karitikoi discussed in this chapter are involved in complex debates over authenticity, originality, and hybridity, local and wider “realities” and “fantasies”, in the routes I have followed here I have tried rather to focus on the multiple levels and musical paths of irony, nostalgia, and loss in contemporary music-making, as well as on the perplexities created, sustained, and negotiated by both anxious and celebratory uses and interpretations of “traditional” music in “new” contexts of sharing culture and meaning. Acknowledgments I wish to thank Alexandra Bakalaki, Steven Feld, Eleni Kallimopoulou, Pafsanias Karathanasis, Rajko Muršič, Eckehard Pistrick, Panagiotis Poulos, and Dafni Tragaki for their sensitive readings and detailed comments on an earlier draft of this chapter. The responsibility for the final text is, of course, mine alone. Notes 1 2 3 4 5 6 7 8

www.youtube.com/watch?v=Rdq8BuloXSY (accessed February 23, 2017). For two interesting and multiply revealing “making of” films of the advertisement, see www.youtube.com/ watch?v=eLfkcUgdaZY and www.youtube.com/watch?v=XfyB7Q-SAz0. For the Mythos Ikariotikos (Remix Renos, featuring Eirini Haridou), see www.youtube.com/watch?v=9sHR00Tfkpg (accessed February 23, 2017). Ikariotikos [male sing. adjective, implying choros (dance) or skopos (tune)], ikariotiko [neutral sing. adjective, implying (but not necessarily) tragoudi (song)]. See e.g. www.youtube.com/watch?v=cYbYcJEaKnY (accessed February 23, 2017). For detailed references, as well as a more elaborate presentation of issues discussed in this section, see Panopoulos (2014). www.hxos.gr/show_page.php?page_id=226&cat_id=46 (accessed March 12, 2014). www.youtube.com/watch?v=vJBaNPQ9W5c&list=PLA9ABC93D8DFA04D3&index=1 (accessed February 23, 2017). www.youtube.com/watch?v=twdt_NDJ2ZM&list=PLzg5MJxxxEejHyhZXyPRDkiI-DKwwULF0 (accessed February 23, 2017).

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10 11 12 13 14 15 16 17 18

In an interview/self-presentation of MC Yinka in Lifo free press magazine, we read: “I was born in Athens in 1981, at Papadiamanti square, in Lambrini. In 1984, we moved to Kato Patissia and since then I roam around this area. Yinka is my name. I am called Emanuel Olayinka Afolanio, of Nigerian origin, from the tribe of Yoruba, with a great heritage, musical and pagan” (www.lifo.gr/mag/features/1910 (accessed February 23, 2017)). On the symbolic significance of “roaming” and “wandering” in ikariotikos lyrics see later in this chapter. www.youtube.com/watch?v=VWfJEXlWxA0 (subtitled in English) (accessed February 23, 2017). English in original. See www.youtube.com/watch?v=9S3gr6I3TLQ (accessed February 23, 2017). www.locomondo.gr/locomondo/BIOGRAPHY_en.html (accessed March 12, 2014). www.youtube.com/watch?v=QBzgYSvMg7E (accessed February 23, 2017). www.youtube.com/watch?v=YKw5xYXyLjM (accessed February 23, 2017). www.youtube.com/watch?v=8KZDs4Jpv-s (accessed February 23, 2017). www.youtube.com/watch?v=sH6kyktMocg (accessed March 14, 2014). www.youtube.com/watch?v=2K3oo01teCo (accessed February 23, 2017). www.protagon.gr/?i=protagon.el.8emata&id=4920 (accessed February 23, 2017).

Bibliography Boissevain, Jeremy, ed. 1992. Revitalizing European Rituals. London: Routledge. Buchanan, Donna A., ed. 2007. “‘Oh, Those Turks!’ Music, Politics, and Interculturality in the Balkans and Beyond.” In Balkan Popular Culture and the Ottoman Ecumene: Music, Image, and Regional Political Discourses, ed. D. Buchanan. Lanham, MD: Scarecrow Press, pp. 3–54. Danforth, Loring. M. 1989. Firewalking and Religious Healing: The Anastenaria of Greece and the American Firewalking Movement. Princeton, NJ: Princeton University Press. Danforth, Loring M. 1995. The Macedonian Conflict: Ethnic Nationalism in a Transnational World. Princeton, NJ: Princeton University Press. Feld, Steven. 1996. “Pygmy Pop. A Genealogy of Schizophonic Mimesis.” Yearbook for Traditional Music 28: 1–35. Feld, Steven. 2000. “A Sweet Lullaby for World Music.” Public Culture 12(1): 145–171. Feld, Steven. 2012. “My Life in the Bush of Ghosts: ‘World Music’ and the Commodification of Religious Experience.” In Music and Globalization: Critical Encounters, ed. Bob W. White. Bloomington: Indiana University Press, pp. 40–51. Herzfeld, Michael. 1997. Cultural Intimacy: Social Poetics in the Nation-State. New York: Routledge. Kallimopoulou, Eleni. 2009. Paradosiaká: Music, Meaning and Identity in Modern Greece. Farnham: Ashgate. Kefalliniadis, Nikos. 1995. Giorgos Konitopoulos: “O Vardos tou Aigaiou”. Athens: Philippotis Press. Kurkela, Vesa. 2007. “Bulgarian Chalga on Video: Oriental Stereotypes, Mafia Exoticism, and Politics.” In Balkan Popular Culture and the Ottoman Ecumene: Music, Image, and Regional Political Discourses, ed. Donna A. Buchanan. Lanham, MD: Scarecrow Press, pp. 143–173. Panopoulos, Panayotis. 1994. “‘Emeis kai oi Livadites’: Tragoudi kai Symvoliki Topografia tis Eterotitas sti Naxo.” In Afigimatikotita, Istoria kai Anthropologia, ed. R. Benveniste and T. Paradellis. Mytilini: University of the Aegean Press, pp. 164–175. Panopoulos, Panayotis. 1996. “Revitalizing the Past, Contextualizing the Present: Cultural Responses to the Tradition of Improvised Singing in Aegean Greece.” Journal of Mediterranean Studies 6(1): 56–69. Panopoulos, Panayotis. 2005. “Retour au village natal: Associations locales et renouveau culturel.” Ethnologie francaise 35: 243–253. Panopoulos, Panayotis. 2014. “To Dikaioma ston Topo: Diamahes gia ta Oria tis Pneumatikis Idioktisias tou Tragoudiou stin Oreini Naxo.” In Metamorfoseis tou Ethnikismou: Epiteleseis tis Syllogikis Tautotitas stin Ellada, ed. Efi Plexousaki. Athens: Alexandria Press, pp. 374–386. Papataxiarchis, Evthymios. 2001. “Dealing with Disadvantage: The Construction of the Self and the Politics of Locality.” In L’anthoropologie de la Méditerranée, Anthropology of the Mediterranean, ed. D. Albera, C. Bromberger, Collectif, and Anton Blok. Maisonneuve et Larose: Maison Méditerranéenne des Sciences de l’Homme d’Aix-en-Provence, pp. 179–211. Stewart, Charles. 1991. Demons and the Devil: Moral Imagination in Modern Greek Culture. Princeton, NJ: Princeton University Press. Strathern, Marilyn, Carneiro Da Cunha, M., Descola, P., Alberto Afonso, C., and Harvey, P. 1998. “Exploitable Knowledge Belongs to the Creators of it: A Debate.” Social Anthropology 6(1): 109–126. Sutton, David. 1998. Memories Cast in Stone: The Relevance of the Past in Everyday Life. Oxford: Berg.

Discography Babali, Andriana. 2010. O John JohnZei. EMI Music Greece, 5099991953421. Locomondo. 2007. Me Wanna Dance. Music Box International, CD 11108. Locomondo. 2009. Live! Music Box International, 3301273529 / 3301273530.

204 • Panayotis Panopoulos palyrria. 2004. palyrria. Cantini, CAN 0045. palyrria. 2010. Electrifying Nature. Cantini, CAN 0199. Parios, Giannis. 1982. Ta Nisiotika. MSM 430–431.

Filmography Peeva, Adela. 2003. Whose is this Song? Directed and produced by Adela Peeva. Documentary Film, 70 minutes.

15 Past Forward Creative Re-inventions of Urban Popular Song in the Music of Sokratis Malamas Dafni Tragaki

Introduction Urban popular song genres drawing upon what is often described as the “oriental” musical heritage in Greek musical production have been constantly re-invented and variously revived throughout the twentieth and early twenty-first centuries (see e.g. Holst-Warharft 2002). Ever since the mid-twentieth century, “art song” (entechno), among other scenes, has variously incorporated rebetiko song aesthetics, a cosmopolitan genre formulated within the musical networks of the Eastern Mediterranean during the early twentieth century – by-now a crossgenerational genre mostly remembered as one voicing the subaltern world of impoverished populations and the social outcasts of the modern Greek nation-state, a genre upon which the formation of laiko in the 1950s was mainly grounded. This chapter explores such rebetiko and laiko, “present pasts” in Hyussen’s terms (Hyussen 2003), in the music of the renowned songwriter and lyricist Sokratis Malamas (b. 1957), one of the most popular representatives of the entechnolaiko (art-popular) genre in contemporary Greece. Malamas’ life stories mediate the artpopular genre cosmopolitics defined by his “indigenous cosmopolitan” strategies of weaving a world of musical Greekness created by the pervasiveness of his transnational musical outlooks. Through a relational understanding of indigeneity released from the romance of claiming “rights” and “culture”, the approach suggested here challenges hegemonic discourses of the “indigenous” in the context of the renewed rigor of critically addressing essentialist and universalist conceptualizations of the term (see e.g. Freidman 2008; Trigger and Dalley 2010). Through Malamas’ case study the chapter privileges an ethnographically grounded approach to the formation of an art-popular “genre-world” focusing on its “situated cosmopolitan” and (re-)cosmopolitanizing practices, and the openness of its multiple flows and agencies, arguing “against the slur that cosmopolitans are rootless” (Werbner 2008: 2). Sokratis’ Cosmopolitanism I first met Sokratis Malamas in a coffee shop close to Larissa train station, where he generously offered his time for a long conversation which started with a rather customary introduction of my research topic and ended up several hours later having shared several memories and stories from his past and present. We were originally introduced through a common friend and fellow musician of his, Yiannis Angelakas, and this has contributed to the building of a relaxed climate of communication and conviviality. In the meetings that followed in Thessaloniki, Sokratis

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Malamas, an engaging story-teller as well as an eloquent and reflective discussant, has critically contributed to the opening of new research orientations and the broadening of my horizons of understanding his music, both within and beyond “scenes” and other conventional categories of making sense of the realities of Greek popular music. As we sat around the table, he puffed out a cloud of cigarette smoke and started to tell his story. I was born in Sykia [a village at the peninsula of Halkidiki in Northern Greece]. I left at an early age, at the age of 6. I went to Germany. To Stuttgart. There I went to the primary school. . . . At first, my parents left. They came back later and took us away. They took me and my younger sister. My two older sisters stayed here. That was around 1965/1966. At home we used to listen to rebetiko and laiko songs. You know, the king of laiko song then was [Stelios] Kazantzidis. I wasn’t moved so much. I used to admire some strange songs though, like “Nychterides ki Arachnes, Glykia mou” [Bats and Spiders, My Sweet] and likewise [his eyes smiling humorously at the song’s rather macabre title]. Several melodies were borrowed from the Indian cinema. In those songs rebetiko and laiko elements began to mix together with something foreign. This created a kind of early “ethnic” scene. India has this . . . from the absolute desire to the absolute pain, this paradoxical expression. The composers of that era borrowed this painful song and they found its ideal interpreter in the voice of Kazantzidis, Kazantzidis’ temperament itself bearing the pain of injustice, a kind of repulsion, an “aman”.1 As Malamas continues his story while passionately smoking, his voice reflecting a kind of bravery and integrity, he speaks without any hesitation when entering the field of childhood memories. And he used to keep company to those people who felt truly expelled from their home. They migrated because their legs were cut off. There were also political prosecutions in those years. In fact, my father would be able to carry on as a farmer, a stockbreeder, a carpenter, a fisherman, etc., but his leftist inclination made him a target. So, he had to leave. In those years the leftists were the black sheep of the community. That was the aftermath of the civil war. They were the losers. There was pain, indeed. A kind of pain that began to manifest itself like an open wound. Because pain has always existed in the social fabric. Now it is artfully hidden, yet I believe that it is the same. You may witness this in politics. In Germany young Malamas emerges as a sort of “cosmopolitan patriot”, in Appiah’s terms, “attached to home of his or her own, with its own particularities, but taking pleasure from the presence of other, different places that are home to other, different people” (Appiah 1998: 91). He is both rooted in the laiko and rebetiko worlds of his diasporic working-class family and routed within the then thriving scenes of American and British Rock and pop songs that he came to know through his multicultural encounters with German and migrant youth. In Germany they [the family and other Greeks] used to listen to songs by [Stelios] Perpiniadis, [Panos] Gavalas, [Rita] Sakelariou, then in her early steps, she had a sonorous voice, Poly Panou, she was an iron woman, [Vicky] Mosholiou, she was then very young, though very impressive, Foteini Mavraki, Haroula Lambraki. . . . But, at the same time, I used to listen to different things together with my Italian, Yugoslavian, Turkish, German friends. The Rolling Stones and the Beatles became popular then – a strange sound came to my ears that

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was new, unprecedented. I haven’t listened to Elvis Presley in advance, for instance, or the Negroes’ Blues, so as to gain a kind of knowledge and to recognize this [new] sound as “oh, yes, this is a continuity of this thing”. I didn’t have any sense of such continuity and, suddenly, I came across this absolutely new work that was immensely interesting. I don’t know the reason, I couldn’t understand at all the English language at the time. However, the music’s dynamics were something very special. . . . Try to imagine now how my mindset was really built. . . . All those things were merged. That is, I used to listen to Tsaousakis in Tsitsanis’ songs on the one hand, this heavy, clear, brave voice, and, on the other hand, I used to listen to Mick Jagger doing his tricks, yet accompanied by an orchestra whose dynamics were outstanding. The sound of the Rolling Stones was more suitable to my age than that of Tsaousakis. I was moved by Tsaousakis and motivated, in a way, by the Rolling Stones. Namely, this polarity became less a polarity, it was no less a polarity, but it became one thing. That is, there was Tsaousakis next to the Rolling Stones, there was Vamvakaris next to the Beatles. At the same time; they were not separate things. All the while, I began listening to the songs of the Woodstock, Joe Cocker, Jimi Hendrix, Led Zeppelin.2 A complex, multicolored, paradoxical thing was born within this assemblage, which was, however, music. Those early inner actions were formed from such stimuli. Two totally remote, totally strange to one another, aesthetic and musical positions, two totally different, incompatible things which were, however, settled on inside my head wonderfully. It is thus in the process of loosening alleged polarities – the “indigenous” music of the diasporic home/the youth Rock culture in the German multicultural industrial city – and in the reconciliation of musical scenes seen otherwise as incompatible where Malamas’ indigenous cosmopolitanism is relationally becoming. His cosmopolitan self is constantly (re)negotiated in flows of multiple encounters, where he creatively invents his own imaginary cosmos (see Moore 2013), “improvising new ways to be native” (Clifford 2007: 198). Such an aesthetic transcendence (Hall and Kazaleh 2006: 26) evolves within the ruptures and continuities of his early diasporic life, the pain and estrangement of xenitia (exile), and the restless sense of nostos, the bitterness of return, the unfulfilled quest for belonging, ever since in doubt, the narrowness of the social world at home, where Malamas emerges as an asphyxiating musical ontology struggling to overcome the adversities of making a living. In this ceaselessly “becoming-world” (Braidotti 2013: 19) Malamas’ indigeneity is strengthened by experiences of mobility and diaspora, suggesting the exploration of his entechno-laiko as a form of music-making emerging in the double directionality of his musical roots and trajectories. It seems then that “more happens under the sign of indigenous than being born, or belonging, in a bounded land or nation” (Clifford 2007: 199). His entechno-laiko sound moves beyond “any perceived antinomy between indigeneity and cosmopolitanism” (Forte 2010: 3; see also Feld 2012: 48–49); it is rather produced as an impulse to articulate the local and to reproduce locality through transnational networks. Malamas thus emerges as an indigenous cosmopolitan “nonelite yet nonparochial, provincial without being isolated, internationalized without being de-localized” (Forte 2010: 6). When narrating his return to Greece he further realized the paradoxes and ambiguities of his indigeneity and reflected upon the frustration of belonging: I returned to Thessaloniki in 1970. My parents remained. They were workers in the industry. In the car industry, the fertilizers’ industry, wherever they were offered a good salary. There were good jobs then in Germany. I returned, because I couldn’t conform to the German

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standards. I had some good moments there, yet most of my moments were torture. I missed my country. I missed my own place. How strange, that’s strange to me, I’ve never been able to explain it after so many years: why so much insistence. It was a sort of an atavistic instinct, a paradoxical one, that drove me back here. “For Greece” Malamas’ sense of homeland is strongly expressed in the song “Gia tin Ellada” (For Greece), where the first verse purposefully remediates the famous line by Odysseas Elytis’ poem “O Ilios, O Iliatoras”: “Ampelia kai chryses elies” (“Vineyards and golden olive trees”).3 By appropriating a fragment of a modernist poem popularized through song, Malamas revisits a Mediterranean fantasy of Greekness once constituted as “a rebellion of the ‘margin’ against the same Western logos that persistently misread Greekness” (Pourgouris 2011: 5). Malamas readdresses Elytis’ poetic “dream nation” in Gourgouris’ terms (Gourgouris 1996: 41), despite its commodification as a national symbol, appropriating it in his own dream-work of homeland. “Ellada” becomes a “topographic desire” (ibid.: 42) in a process where the subject-musician becomes nationalized, while the topos is colonized by the nation (ibid.: 43). This is the domain where Malamas emerges as a “native”, an “indigene”, both constituted and dismembered within a postcolonial discourse recalling a Mediterranean Greekness which, at the same time, he himself calls into question and critique (“once a pimped European/once an ancient sculpture/why, why”, as the lyrics poetically put it). Here, his lyrics reinvigorate affective economies of a homeland already popularized in verse, for instance, by Nikos Gatsos and Manolis Rasoulis, diffused in the public sphere through music, thus rendering the song to an archive of sonic and lyrical memories, a partial, synesthetic archive that sonifies dimensions of Malamas’ subjectification and suspended belonging.4 His topographic desire is articulated in the impersonation of “Ellada” as a love object, the beloved and alluring female now deprived of her beauty (“the trees, the branches are naked/and they flew away/the birds and the stars in foreign hands”). Still, though, she is desirable to the singer who calls for the return of her once ravishing self (“come back and show me your way once more”), being entranced by her “darkness” (“embrace me so as to enter your darkness/enchantress, I’ve loved you”). It is also a topography performed musically in the symbiosis of piano and oud, dialogically producing a domain of interstices that are neither “East” nor “West”, one that legitimizes the art-popular “third space” of his liminal self. Feeling displaced and lost, yet in a state of pleasurable exile, while having cynically realized that “things were always like this”, he is yearning for a refuge in her sky as a way to heal and/or entertain the state of “oblivion” (“we are the children of oblivion”), of being forgotten and forgetful. The impossibility of his love affair performatively materializes a kind of utopian and eroticized citizenship musically imagined and lived both despite and outside history, in the “darkness”, outside any place and any time. Since pure love, as well as ultimate belonging, are inevitably unattainable, Malamas’ subversive nostalgia for his evasive homeland becomes, beyond a manifestation of a sentimental patriotism, a way to directly address power in song (see e.g. Stokes 2010: 147–187).5 Drawn into such politics of love, the sentimental subject risks entering a regime of relationality that manifests the voluntary retreat from his bounded self as he becomes immersed in love – a transformative action that is sufficiently powerful to dissolve one’s selfsovereignty (see Berlant 2011). Falling in love is a daring withdrawal from the neoliberal autonomous self, a step into a realm of permanent emergency, a dangerous exposure to a contingently irreversible field of excessive experiences lived at any cost, even of losing the self.6

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Narrow Life Upon his return, at around the age of 13 or 14, Greece was already ruled by the Colonels. “I was full with Junta”, he stressed. I didn’t have better experiences here; however, I was saved from regretting not to be here. . . . That was in 1970/1971. . . . It was a strange, narrow life, as I wasn’t interested in school, I didn’t understand many things, I changed culture once more, I changed places, I couldn’t understand the other people, all this wasn’t good for me at all. . . . If you listen to the early songs that I wrote, if you can endure listening to them, you will see that a frustrated man is singing frustrated songs. Terrible days and narrow life time is a well that covers anything that is trivial and quotidian a voice split apart Life follows you tightly today was yesterday, it doesn’t concern you neither will you find any difference in our beautiful city at dawn.7 (“Anases Viastikes” [Hasty Breaths], Aspromavres Istories [Black and White Stories], 1989) The cultural environment in Thessaloniki was of absolutely zero value. There was the Thessaloniki Song Festival . . . junk compositions . . . copies of copies and, thankfully, there was Hadjidakis . . . who was the nectar of the Gods, indeed. Even his theatrical compositions – whenever we could have access to the tape recordings – they were an oasis. My classmates, though, used to like songs by the pop stars of that era; the television dynamically entered the scene. . . . The lights were “lowered” in the social body. The Greeks were getting used to the idea that this is the system, this is the state of things. . . . We began listening to musics from the international scene, there were several productions from the British scene, the American, the French, the Italian, some nonsense coming from Europe – Al Bano and Romina Power, terrible things of incredible success – a lot of Rock; it became the dominant genre. . . . Radio music broadcasts also started. There was light music, Tom Jones and so on, for instance. It was extremely popular in Greece, but it was rather silly. Led Zeppelin were smashing, [Jimi] Hendrix, Janis Joplin. . . . Then there were local groups, who sang with Greek lyrics. Rock groups with Greek lyrics. Somewhere around that time [Pavlos] Sidiropoulos made his presence. And [Dionysis] Savvopoulos appeared. Within the complex trajectories of his musical experiences his music is thus produced, in Malamas’ own words, as a “paradoxical assemblage” made up of lived intimacies and novelties – an assemblage “made in Greece”, to recall the title of this volume. Following Born, it is tempting to interpret the cosmopolitan assemblage of Malamas’ entechno-laiko song as “a combination of mediations (sonic, discursive, visual, artefactual, technological, social, temporal)” (Born 2005: 8). Such a symbiosis motivates the fertile rapprochement and reterritorialization of otherwise remote and apparently discrepant places and times constitutive of Malamas’ cosmopolitan indigeneity: Vamvakaris’ marginality and the popular counterculture of the Beatles, the viral

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transgressiveness of the Rolling Stones and the sentimentalism of Tsitsanis’ bouzouki tunes, Kazantzidis’ voice of trauma and the revolutionary sounds of Woodstock, the electricity of Jimi Hendrix and the elitist art-song of Hadjidakis, the mainstream “light” radio songs, and the Rock disenchantment of Pavlos Sidiropoulos. Or, at the moment of our encounter, his recollections of Akis Panou’s solemnity and of Keith Jarrett’s album Dark Intervals. In this play of pasts and presents, of retentions (memories or traces of the past) and protentions (projections or anticipations), as Born put it (drawing from Alfred Gell), tacitly performed in his songwriting and lyrics, Malamas invents his entechno-laiko cosmos as an aesthetic strategy for discrediting conventional boundaries mastering, at the same time, its own stigma. Past Forward: The Story of a Princess Such a past–present play is musically exemplified in the song “Pringipessa” (Princess) which has seen a burgeoning virality in the local and transnational performative and mediatic networks. Look, I’ll tell you the truth about this song. Beyond its lyrics and musical forms, this song’s introduction resembles somehow a Tsitsanis’ song, “Dilitirio sti Fleva” (Poison in the Vein) [he sings the tune to remind me of the song] . . . Tsitsanis’ dynamics have entered this zeibekiko. . . . Listen to the introduction and you will see that there is a deep affinity in the theme. It wasn’t a conscious attempt, yet later on, when I happened to play again “Dilitirio sti Fleva”, I simply realized that they [the two songs] were cousins, almost brothers. “Dilitirio sti Fleva” is one of the late zeibekiko compositions by Vasilis Tsitsanis that has remained rather neglected in the collective memory of Tsitsanis’ by-now “classic” constellation of popular compositions. Following the postwar rebetiko instrumentation and form representative by Tsitsanis himself and only recorded in 1978, the song is a rare example of a heroin song by the composer: Poison in the vein is my blood even if a viper bites me it will also, my good friend, die.8 (“Dilitirio sti Fleva” [Poison in the vein], Tsitsanis. 12 Nees Laikes Dimiourgies [Tsitsanis. 12 New Popular Creations], 1978) At the moment of narrating the song’s lineage, Malamas was growing excited by his reflection born within the dialogic memory work of our ethnographic encounter as an intuitive process of surfacing what appeared to be rather deeply buried layers of memories. He seemed to enjoy confiding this realization, entering an unexpected and reflective jouissance of exploring his musical pathways. Instantly, he oscillated between a kind of confessed acknowledgment that he was aware of performing in the context of meeting someone who was interested in writing about him, and a simultaneous intra-dialogue of knowing himself to himself. Intrigued by the story of the song’s subliminal lineage, I was curious to know whether this was once one of his favorite tunes by Tsitsanis. He replied: No. I’ve listened to the song and have played it in the past in a few live stages. . . . We take some ready material from the houses that were built by those preceding us and we build our

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hut. We haven’t been breaking stones in a mine, we haven’t been digging out those stones from the mine in order to build a house. We used to take [stones] from the wrecked houses, the old houses, we used to take whatever was left from one or two houses and we used to build a new one. This metaphor of “mining” embodies a certain perception of creativity that further elaborates the notion of his music as a “paradoxical assemblage”. For Malamas, past lived musical objects are haunting present processes of music-making in the form of intuitive sonic relics subliminally networked and reused in the songwriter’s imagination. To that extent, the songwriter advocates a sensibility of tradition as a repository for musical aesthetics of entechno-laiko assemblages removed from the cliché of worshiping the past. Instead, he is engaged with an aesthetics of creative appropriation and openness released from claims of cultural difference and autochthony. This is where Malamas’ musical knowledge and narrative point towards the recognition that any sort of cosmopolitan subjectivity presupposes the acknowledgment of an indigenous self, and vice versa, thus challenging once more any perceived dichotomy between the two notions (see Forte 2010: 11). I say different things from what I do how can I tell you I used to say that as the years go by I will wise up But it is a futile gift to change your character you keep records in vain I’m right in vain Outside the wind is blowing yet inside me inside this house my princess your light and the light are dancing around us how incredible is this world and our character I wish different things from those I do and I arrived at this point wrongs, misdeeds, and passions turned me to a right man In the dawn out on the street I lay my fishing line I end up catching myself and losing my mind. (“Pringipessa” [Princess], O Fylakas ki o Vasilias [The Guardian and the King], 2000)

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“Pringipessa” narrates the story of a man passionately in love with his “princess”, yet who fails to conduct a successful love affair, since his actions are against his will. Unable to control the overwhelming power of his “passions”, he is caught up in his tendency towards “wrongdoing”. As a lover fatally tortured by his “incredible” self, he ends up aimlessly wandering alone in the streets, “losing his mind”, becoming a social outcast, still suffering through his love for the princess, disempowered, however, to bring her happiness. The “incredible self” living in an “incredible world” are both lyrically positioned at the point where the song reaches its apogee, that is, the last verse of the chorus. This is the musical and lyrical performance of an ontological scream by a resentful existence at once chained in its own passions and vanity and deliberately subjectified within them: a proudly failed Dasein danced in heavy zeibekiko rhythmic patterns. The themes of “love in vain” and of “burning love” (kapsoura) are commonplaces in the tradition of rebetiko and laiko genres,9 as well as the figure of the “princess” and that of the bohemian male driven by his passions towards disaster. “The Princess” reactivates the power of these diachronic affective worlds which, among others, have defined the performativity of rebetiko and laiko song ontologies here rematerialized within the cosmos of art-popular song. The song’s forms and musical structures conform to the standard ABAB urban popular song form, the introductory theme also serving as the bridge connecting the song’s strophic units.10 Its melodic lines are stripped of unnecessary complexities, while its orchestration places the stringed instruments (in this case the guitar and the laouto) at the forefront, entrusting to the double-bass and the drums the formation of a suitably thick ground for building the tune. Malamas’ voice steps firmly upon the melodic line, evolving without the fluctuations and plethoric embellishments featuring contemporary laiko song “arabesk” aesthetics. Released in 2000, “Pringipessa” has achieved an escalating success ever since, as it has been embraced in the repertoire of several popular Greek singers. Night Life Hardships: The Years of Merokamato After graduating from high school, Malamas returned to Germany to study electrical engineering while continuing to take classical guitar lessons, which he had already started in Thessaloniki. His love for the classical guitar has defined ever since the trajectories of his art/popular musical dualism. As an introspective young man immersed in poetry, literature, and philosophical readings as well as in European art music and fine art, he eventually realized that he preferred to devote his life to music. In the local youth clubs he was also attracted to experimenting with drugs – hashish, “pills” – as a game with the limits of consciousness. Two years later he left university. Back in Thessaloniki he did his military service immediately after a rather long period of hospitalization due to severe injuries which he suffered following a car accident that proved fatal for one of the passengers. In order to continue his music studies he moved to Athens where he studied classical guitar at the National Conservatory with the renowned Evangelos Asimakopoulos, whom he regards with great admiration. The pressure of making a living, though, forced him to look for merokamato (a daily wage) at the bouzouki nightclubs then known as pataria (the ill-reputed entertainment clubs housed in lofts, also called “dog-dens”). He recalls this “dark” period as one saturated with feelings of despair and fatigue, since he could hardly pursue his “deep love” (in his own words), namely that of becoming a classical guitarist while working “in the night”.

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The pataria was a cruel world too: In 1980 I worked at Ifigeneia club, in Sygrou Street. It was full of transvestites. Men who have been operated and used to have pathological relationships with their boyfriends . . . And there were stabbings there, on the spot, they were cutting their veins . . . blood all over the place, because they used to love each other . . . I was feeling bad, very bad, that is, I was in pain. I couldn’t understand what was all this, I couldn’t understand. . . .You can’t imagine this, you can’t explain this thing. I can’t communicate this thing. Later I used to go to Tsitsanis, to calm down at “Harama” [live stage], because my clientele was not frequenting there. Malamas remembered the years at the pataria and his long-term freelance employment at various social events as a capital of experiences that differentiated him from other artistic figures in contemporary Greece in a rather bitterly and ironically charged narrative turn: But I was born in the pataria, while other people were making an academic career from one theatrical stage to the other presenting their wonderful artistic work! I was born there, where the lover used to throw up at the feet of his beloved . . . I used to play in village feasts, in baptisms, ever since I was a young boy, here and there, as a student, I made a living through songs, I didn’t have any support from my parents. Those hard years of affective labor have decisively shaped the laiko dimension of Malamas’ aesthetics. As a competent guitarist, with a vast and diverse repertoire and by then a well-known instrumentalist in the music market, he was employed in major nyhtomagaza (a slang word for live stages that remained open throughout the night) in the Plaka area (Athens), also frequented by tourists, where he admittedly earned good money: “We used to start at nine, nine thirty at night and we used to leave together with the last customer. . . . We usually ended up at eight, or nine in the morning.. . . Twelve hours’ work or so . . . I could almost commit suicide.” It was indeed a state of impasse. Emotionally exhausted by the nightclub culture, the unfulfilled anticipations of his classical guitar studies, feeling suspended in an alienating, professional world, he looked for an escape. This condition of enclosure fueled his inclination to experiment with altered states of consciousness: I found a safeguard at some point. That was my life in-between Syngrou [street] and the Athens central market, in Athinas Street, inside the patsatzidika [restaurants offering patsas soup] where we used to eat animals, I used to eat the dead down there, let’s say, we used to eat the hell of us. It smelled all over the place, we used to smoke hashish, a lot of hashish, that is where we were all the time, from the time we woke up until the time we were dying [a poetic expression meaning “until the time we were exhausted late at night”], with a bafos [“joint”]; we didn’t care for anything else around us. Hashish helped us a lot, let it be sacred, sacred, then we tried various other things, we took some amphetamines, some strange things, we entered a deep trip and we used to work very badly – people used to warn us, “hey you, stop working!” In the nyhtomagaza of Plaka, Malamas further enhanced his skills in performing heavy laiko songs, such as those sung by Stelios Kazantzidis, Stratos Dionysiou, and compositions by Akis

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Figure 15.1 Sokratis Malamas on stage. Source: Photo by Yiannis Margetousakis.

Panou, together with laiko songs popularized by the voice of Grigoris Bithikotsis, as well as the rebetiko songs of Vamvakaris and Tsitsanis. Through his professional trajectories in the worlds of laiko and rebetiko he further reworked and immersed himself in the musical intimacies already embodied during his early diasporic life. Moving within the duality of pursuing classical guitar studies on the one hand and the professional performance of urban popular song genres on the other, a duality that separated his days and nights – the conservatory and the pataria – he began to weave a musical and poetic subjectivity that was about to invent enhanced modalities of manifesting its sensibilities of estrangement, disillusionment, and displacement, attracting, however, an ever-flourishing world of devotees. Malamas’ situation was growing serious. Three and half years later he moved back to Thessaloniki, where he withdrew from the nightmare of the night-time world, earning “a salary of hunger”, in his own words, as a guitar teacher in a local conservatory. Then in Thessaloniki he came across a composer and producer who has since been catalytic in turning his life around: Nikos Papazoglou.

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Sokratis Malamas, the Songwriter, the Lyricist Papazoglou “discovered” Malamas performing his early songs in the boȋtes of Thessaloniki. Having himself pioneered the development of the entehno-laiko genre in the 1980s in the musical circles of Dionysis Savvopoulos, Manolis Rasoulis, and Nikos Xydakis, he later ran the “Agrotikon” Recording Studio in Thessaloniki. Malamas’ sound was brought to life there within a musical topos promoting a special entechno-laiko aesthetics which soon gained an escalating popularity throughout the country, as well as in Spain, Israel, and Turkey. His song “To Gramma” (The Letter) became popular a few years ago in China, in Beijing: In China, in Beijing, “The Letter” became a success. A delegation of Chinese people came to meet me at a concert in Nafplion [Greece]. . . . “We need to do something, you should play there [in China]”. . . . Someone who owned a Greek restaurant in Beijing used to play the song and they came across the song there [at the restaurant], they broadcast it at some radio station and it became a favorite song. It was also adapted in Chinese. “To Gramma”, like several of Malamas’ ballads, represents the musical cross-fertilization of a Rock ballad with the “East”. “The melodies are always oriental-like”, he emphasized when asked about his musical language. “Even within an absolutely Rock thing, the singing is in a hijaz or an ousak [Ottoman musical modes]; this is absolutely sure.” The tune’s signifier is an allpervasive, alternating, four-note melodic pattern played repeatedly on the accordion, structuring in this way the experience of the song’s temporality. It is a temporality in minor key saturated by the musician’s melancholic imagination also performed in the affectivities of the song’s lyrical world. “I don’t want you to feel embittered on Sunday nights/without this darkness the years are left empty”, sings the chorus. “I don’t want” is the recurrent phrase leading the opening of the strophes and mediating an emancipatory refusal, apart from the fourth verse which, in contrast, begins with the affirmative “I want”, empowering, nonetheless, the subject’s persistence in a sort of stirring refusal contingently activating a form of social dissent. In “To Gramma”, as well as in the majority of his songs, Malamas emerges as a critical rather than as a pessimist melancholic, constantly estranged from the desired Other, taking pleasure in a sort of contemplative yet uncompromising melancholy that is in fact the innate force of his artistic creativity. As this first-person melancholic revolt diffuses in the public sphere, it is transformed into a cultural emotion that acquires the power to regulate collective/individual experiences and memories. It publicizes cultural intimacies voicing a disenchantment with the logic of late liberal capitalism in which they themselves are nonetheless becoming (see also Stokes 2010).11 Such a melancholic resistance defines Malamas’ reluctance to enter the field of the “world music” market. “I don’t care about becoming a world music artist. I’m not interested. Besides, this would be impossible for me. My work is caged within the laiko [style], perhaps with some ballad-like references from the West.” Responding to my objection that there are several “world music” artists who have known stunning success, having produced a sound world that capitalizes upon imaginaries of the local, he clarified his position further: I don’t want to go anywhere. I avoid traveling abroad, I don’t know why, but I avoid it . . . I’m the most reserved person in the world. I don’t want to go anywhere. I have proposals, let’s say, from Uruguay to China. . . . I only want to go to Trikala, to Larissa, to Alexandroupoli, to Rhodes, to Peloponnesus [Greek provincial areas]; I don’t care. You know, we have

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invitations from all over the world. Four years ago I was invited to perform at the Festival in the Desert [a “world music” festival organized annually in Mali, Africa]. Well, I didn’t go! To do what in the desert? Why should Malamas become global? Nobody can drag me here or there to become the Cesaria Evora of Greece. It’s against my nature. At the same time, however, he stressed that “I don’t have any problem with my songs spreading throughout the world”, thus validating his music’s globality freed from the capitalist logic of “world music” marketing and publishing. His songs “Neraida” (Fairy) and “Pringipessa” were recently translated into Spanish; “Pringipessa”, “Lene” (They Say), “Tsigaro Ateleioto” (Endless Cigarette) were performed in Israel, while “Pringipessa” has known millions of broadcasts in the Turkish radio airwaves. This transnationalization, released from the artist’s mobility, yet networked in the mobility of his musical objects as migrating genres, suggests a critical awareness of the multicultural politics of capitalist creative industries. By manifesting instead an attachment to the locality, as one of “his nature”, Malamas discursively performs his rooted cosmopolitan self who feels assured anyway of his by now vested popularity in the contemporary Greek public sphere. Entering the musical circles of entechno-laiko marked for Malamas a passage: from the nightclubs’ subaltern economy of merokamato to the self-reliant economy of songwriting, recording, and performing mostly on his own terms, earning himself a place in the local and transnational culture industry.12 From 1989 to the time of writing, he has been a prolific composer and lyricist, producing a rich discography, having collaborated with the most renowned Greek musicians (such as Thanasis Papakonstantinou, Haris Alexiou, Alkinoos Ioannidis, Nikos Xydakis, Eleni Vitali, Melina Kana, Manolis Rasoulis, and Maria Farantouri), his voice and songs capturing the public sphere defining popular sentimentalisms of local everydayness. Acknowledgments Many thanks to Sokratis Malamas for his unreserved support, his generous invitations to attend his performances, and for sharing stories and experiences during our encounters. Notes 1 2 3 4 5 6 7 8 9 10 11

“Aman” is an exclamation of pain commonly found in amanes and rebetiko song lyrics. Such influences are evident, for instance, in his song “Laspes” (Mud) from his album Aspromavres Istories (Black and White Stories, 1989). Led Zeppelin did not participate at the Woodstock Festival. All Malamas’ lyrics in the text appear in translation by the author. The song is included in the album Kyklos (Circle) released in 1993 (Lyra – 4744, I Lyra tou Vorra – 4744). For an English translation of Elytis’ poem see The Sovereign Sun: Selected Poems, translated by Kimon Friar (Temple University Press, 1974). See, for instance, the lyrics of “Mana Mou Hellas” (My Mother, Hellas) by Stavros Xarhakos (Album Rebetiko, 1983) or of “Ah Ellada” (Ah, Greece) by Manolis Rasoulis (Nai Kai Sto Nai, Nai Kai Sto Ochi (Yes to Yes, Yes to No, Too), 1984). Interestingly, Malamas opened with this song his performance at the concert organized in support of “No” to the Greek referendum in July, 2015. See Slavoj Žižek, “Love as a Political Category.” Keynote lecture given at the 6th Subversive Festival (Zagreb, Croatia) on June 5,2013. Available atwww.youtube.com/watch?v=b44IhiCuNw4 (accessed July 12, 2015). Verses 1 and 2. Lyrics by Vasilis Tsitsanis. Translated by the author. Also common in various past and present musical traditions in the Eastern Mediterranean and the Middle East. The complete song structure, including the instrumental sections, is I-A-I’-B-I-A-I’-B-C. I would like to thank our series editor, Franco Fabbri, for his advice on this issue. Listen to his by-now most popular songs such as “Tsigaro Atelioro” (Endless Cigarette), “Neraida” (Fairy), “Lene” (They Say), “Pagia” (Flat Rates), “Moiraia Gynaika” (Femme Fatale), “To Tragoudi tou Methysmenou” (Drunken’s

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12

Song), “Kipos” (Garden), “Ase Ta Psemata” (Leave the Lies), “Anysihes Meres” (Restless Days), “Tipota de Hathike” (Nothing is Lost), “Tou Asotou” (Of the Errant Man), “Eftyheis, Lypimenoi kai Potes” (Happy, Sad, and Drinkers), “Mia Volta sta Vathia” (A Stroll in the Depths), “Ta Paidia Mes Tin Plateia” (The Children at the Square), “Hameno Rouho” (Lost Clothing), “Ta Xotika” (The Elves), among others. Information about the ever-expanding discography by Sokratis Malamas is available at www.discogs.com/ artist/1453082-%CE%A3%CF%89%CE%BA%CF%81%CE%AC%CF%84%CE%B7%CF%82-%CE%9C%CE%AC %CE%BB%CE%B1%CE%BC%CE%B1%CF%82.

Bibliography Appiah, Kwame. 1998. “Cosmopolitan Patriots.” In Cosmopolitics. Thinking and Feeling beyond the Nation, ed. Ph. Cheah and Br. Robbins. Minneapolis: University of Minnesota Press, pp. 91–116. Berlant, Laurent. 2011. “A Properly Political Concept of Love: Three Approaches in Ten Pages.” Cultural Anthropology 26(4): 683–691. Born, Georgina. 2005. “On Musical Mediation. Ontology, Technology, Creativity.” Twentieth Century Music 2(1): 7–36. Braidotti, Rosi. 2013. “Becoming-World.” In After Cosmopolitanism ed. R. Braidotti et al. London and New York: Routledge, pp. 8–27. Clifford, James. 2007. “Varieties of Indigenous Experience. Diasporas, Homelands, Sovereignties.” In Indigenous Experience Today ed. M. de la Cadena and O. Starn. Oxford: Berg, pp. 197–224. Feld, Steven. 2012. Jazz Cosmopolitanism in Accra. Five Musical Years in Ghana. Durham, NC, and London: Duke University Press. Forte, C. Maximilian. 2010. “Introduction. Indigeneities and Cosmopolitanisms.” In Indigenous Cosmopolitans. Transnational and Transcultural Indegeneity in the Twenty-First Century, ed. M.C. Forte. New York: Peter Lang, pp. 1–14. Freidman, Jonathan. 2008. “Indigeneity. Anthropological Notes on a Historical Variable.” In Indigenous Peoples: The Challenge of Indigeneity, Self-Determination and Knowledge, ed. H. Minde. The Netherlands: Eburon, pp. 29–48. Gourgouris, Stathis. 1996. Dream Nation. Enlightenment, Colonization and the Institution of Modern Greece. Stanford, CA: Stanford University Press. Graeber, David. 2008. “On Cosmopolitan and (Vernacular) Democratic Creativity, or: There Never Was a West.” In Anthropology and the New Cosmopolitanism. Rooted, Feminist and Vernacular Perspectives, ed. P. Werbner. Oxford and New York: Berg, pp. 281–308. Hall, Alex and Kazaleh, Lorenz. 2006. “Cosmopolitanism and Anthropology.” Anthropology Today 22(4): 25–26. Holst-Warharft, Gail. 2002. “The Tame Sow and the Wild Boar. Hybridization and the Rebetika.” In Songs of the Minotaur. Hybridity and Popular Music in the Era of Globalization. A Comparative Analysis of Rebetika, Tango, Rai and Flamenco, Sardana and English Urban Folk, ed. G. Steingress. Münster: Lit, pp. 21–51. Hyussen, Andreas. 2003. Present Pasts. Urban Palimpsests and the Politics of Memory. Stanford, CA: Stanford University Press. Moore, Henrietta. 2013. “The Fantasies of Cosmopolitanism.” In After Cosmopolitanism, ed. R. Braidotti et.al. London and New York: Routledge, pp. 97–110. Pourgouris, Marinos. 2011. Mediterranean Modernisms. The Poetic Metaphysics of Odysseus Elytis. Farnham: Ashgate. Stengers, Isabelle. 2005. “The Cosmopolitical Proposal.” In Making Things Public. Atmospheres of Democracy, ed. B. Latour and P. Weibel. Cambridge, MA: MIT Press, pp. 994–1003. Stokes, Martin. 2010. The Republic of Love. Chicago, IL: University of Chicago Press. Trigger, S., and Cameo Dalley, D.C. 2010. “Negotiating Indigeneity. Culture, Identity, Politics.” Reviews in Anthropology 39(1): 46–65. Werbner, Pnina. 2008. “Introduction: Towards a New Cosmopolitan Anthropology.” In Anthropology and the New Cosmopolitanism. Rooted, Feminist and Vernacular Perspectives, ed. P. Werbner. Oxford and New York: Berg, pp. 1–29.

16 Is Zorba More Greek than Greek Music? How Greek Music is Perceived and Reproduced beyond Greece’s Borders Gail Holst-Warhaft

Thirty years ago, a 70-foot-high mural of Anthony Quinn in the title role of Zorba the Greek was created by Hispanic artist Eloy Torres on the wall of a building in Los Angeles. It is currently being restored and will soon tower again over the downtown streets of the city. For the Hispanic population of a once-poor area of LA, the mural is a tribute by one Hispanic artist to another (Quinn was half-Mexican, half-Irish). To other Americans, even those too young to have seen the movie or heard the Theodorakis soundtrack, the image is familiar from later movies and TV programs. It is a Greek man dancing, arms outstretched in uninhibited bliss. Indeed, to consider what Greek music means to people beyond Greece’s borders, we are faced with the necessity of confronting the Zorba factor. Since Michael Cacoyiannis’ film was released in 1964 with its bouzouki-based soundtrack by Theodorakis, “Zorba’s Dance” has been adapted and re-recorded, inter alia, by Tijuana Brass in the USA, by Marcello Minerbi in Italy, as a propaganda piece for the Shining Path guerrillas in Peru, by the British LCD dance act, and by the German dance act Scooter. By the time the composer of the score had been released from prison during the military dictatorship of 1967 to 1974 and begun touring the world to draw attention to the plight of his country, the Zorba factor was already a problem. To his great annoyance, when Theodorakis visited Australia in 1971, audiences of mostly Greek-Australians chanted “Zoooorba! Zooooorba!” as he conducted some of his most political and moving songs. The film itself is not to blame. Despite the unlikely casting of Anthony Quinn and Alan Bates in the starring roles, it is a not-too-far-fetched adaptation of the Kazantzakis novel. The soundtrack became a huge success because of its catchy dance, the hitherto non-existent syrtaki, which combined a slow and a fast hasapiko.1 The appeal of Zorba, rather like that of Melina Merkouri’s character Ilya in Jules Dassin’s Never on Sunday, is based on a contrast between an inhibited outsider and a sensual, hedonistic, unschooled Greek who knows that the secret of life is to eat, drink, and dance with abandon. Both films were released in the 1960s at a time when mass tourism was beginning in Greece. Film scores for both movies were sensationally popular. Manos Hadjidakis’ “The Children of Piraeus” and Theodorakis’s “Zorba’s Dance” remain the most popular Greek tunes ever recorded. The Zorba influence may have faded in the Greek diaspora and in Europe, but it is still revived in the service of tourism and advertising. As the reaction to Theodorakis’s concerts indicated,

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beyond Greece’s borders Zorba was considered more representatively Greek than any Greek music performed in Greece. Its success raises a question which Greeks have had to answer since the country became a nation in the mid-nineteenth century, one that is still being pondered today: who owns Greece? It is a question all tourist destination countries are confronted with to some extent, but Greece remains an unusual case, and the appropriation of Greek music is simply one illustration of what Martin Bernal called “Hellenomania” (Bernal 1987: 281–336). The Enduring Popularity of Rebetiko Leaving Zorba and Hellenomania behind for the moment, I would like to look at the more recent phenomenon of how a certain type of Greek music has become an integral part of the world music scene. Before mass tourism and the birth of the Greek film industry, most nonGreeks had no feeling of what Greek music sounded like. Movie soundtracks and holidays spent in a country where folk music and dance were alive and well created an international enthusiasm and market for Greek music. What non-Greeks expect from Greek music, as they do of all “ethnic” music, is what differentiates it from the music of, say, Italy or Spain. Look around any tourist shop in Athens, and you will see, beside the miniature Parthenons, charioteers, cats, and donkeys, T-shirts depicting Zorba dancing, or a bouzouki. The two visual signs of Greek music, we might say, are the male dancer and the bouzouki. The most enduring Greek urban popular music heard beyond the country’s borders today is probably the re(m)betiko/a.2 Just as there is hardly an island or a village without a rebetiko band in Greece, so there are rebetiko ensembles in Greek communities from Chicago to Melbourne, and from Paris to Berlin. Although rebetiko songs evolved into the laika (sing. laiko), becoming, as the name suggests, more broadly popular, it is not the laika songs of the 1950s and 1960s that are listened to so much by younger Greeks, but the older rebetiko of Markos Vamvakaris and his generation. These songs have been termed the blues of Greece, not for any musical similarities with American blues, but because they grew out of an impoverished underclass during a period of mass immigration and urbanization.3 References to smoking hashish, prisons, and the pain of living on the margins of society struck a chord with blues fans, especially with young people who found the music hip. Another attractive feature was the exoticism of the dance rhythms associated with the genre, particularly the 9/8 of the solo male dance, the zeibekiko. Sex, Drugs, and Rebetiko Like flamenco and tango, rebetiko has attracted not only fans but aficionados inside and outside Greece since the 1960s. In the 1970s and 1980s, as books were written, films were made, and rebetiko clubs opened in the Greek diaspora, rebetiko became an international phenomenon. To see what happened to rebetiko when non-Greeks began playing and transforming the songs, a brief exploration of the internet offers some educative examples. The Paris-based group “Sex, Drugs, and Rebetiko”, led by a French-Greek singer with members from France and elsewhere, has an enthusiastic local following (the name is surely part of the attraction). They perform familiar songs in a style which suggests that they are seriously stoned. This is apparently part of their appeal for French audiences.4 There are some surprises, including an occasional instrumental solo on the cello or clarinet, but what is missing from their performances is the restrained style that was once prized in rebetiko.5

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Greek rebetiko singers sang about pain, and about hashish, but they didn’t wear their hearts on their musical sleeves, at least, not back in their day. During the first rebetiko revival in the late 1970s, when rebetiko clubs were opening in the Plaka district of Athens, hip young Greeks discovered that the rebetes resembled proto-hippies (drop-outs who smoked dope). They encouraged old musicians, whose voices were past their prime, to come back and perform in the nightclubs of the Plaka, and they cheered at references in underworld slang to hashish. “Sex, Drugs, and Rebetiko” have carried this sort of milieu to another level, turning it into a French hip phenomenon. Vinicio Capossela and Rebetiko Gymnastas Other groups outside the borders of Greece have taken rebetiko and made it into something of their own. The Italian singer Vinicio Capossela’s album Rebetiko Gymnastas (Rebetiko Gymnast) reveals a lot about how rebetiko music has been adopted, filtered, and re-presented as an ItalianGreek phenomenon.6 The title song of the album, “Rebetiko Mou” (My Rebetiko), is performed by Capossela with an instrumental group, but he has a double, a puppet who sings along karaokestyle, strumming a bouzouki and looking like a melancholy version of the muppet, Kermit the Frog. He appears on a split screen with the band, sometimes taking the lead. He’s not exactly comical, but what does this cuddly rebetis represent? The words of his title song are about wounded love: Drunk to the gills empty to the heart filled with retsina and pain. Dawn is in no hurry my steps are the night that awaits them. Make it tighter tonight the world is not enough. Back my steps with a chorus in the circle of rebetiko, alone like a parade like a farewell. This dance is only for me. Kiss me once and let me die among people who don’t know me. In the arms of the night I fall, armless, to you. Once again it’s time to die for you alone. The miserable love song of the lonely puppet/rebetis is, of course, sung by Capossela, but why the double who looks like a frog? And what does it say about his attitude towards rebetiko? There is something playful about the use of the frog-rebetis. He looks as though he has been

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made for a television program intended for children. Capossela himself wears a hat low on his brow, a coat with one sleeve out in classical rebetiko style, and he dances around with his baglamas/bouzouki held high in front of him. He is hamming it up in a friendly parody of a rebetis that is entirely at variance with the lyrics of the song. Indeed, it is difficult to imagine either Capossela or his frog-double heartbroken over some dame. The hasapiko rhythm is too slow to dance to, but the musicians, playing guitar, bouzouki, and baglama, are not playing for anything resembling the coordinated steps of a hasapiko. They don’t play badly – they just act as a vehicle for a song that has a quirky charm and a light Greek flavor. How do Italians react to such music? Greeks would find it strange, certainly parodic, but Capossela is already a popular artist, and his rebetiko-style song apparently appeals to an Italian audience familiar with the music from holidays in Greece if not from recordings and YouTube videos. In contrast to the French group Sex, Drugs, and Rebetiko, Capossela’s performance has charm and humor. The other track on Rebetiko Gymnastas that might be called rebetiko is “Misirlou”, a song which Capossela sings in Greek. It is a curiously hybrid choice to represent the genre. The earliest known recorded version of “Misirlou” was made in 1927 by a Greek immigrant living in the USA, Ted Dimitriades, but it was already familiar across the Middle East under slightly different titles. Interestingly, it achieved worldwide fame through a recording made by surf-Rock star Dick Dale. Picked up by the Beach Boys, it was used on the soundtrack of Quentin Tarantino’s Pulp Fiction. The song’s tsifteteli rhythm and hijaz-kar mode have come to represent a generic Middle Eastern sound. Yehuda Poliker and Rebetiko as Israeli Pop One of the most successful foreign adaptations of Greek music, again based on rebetiko, began in Israel in the 1980s. Greek music was already very popular in the country, thanks in part to the Greek guitarist and singer Aristotelis Saisanas, known as Aris San, who traveled to Israel as a teenager in the late 1950s and stayed on to perform in nightclubs, and who became a popular recording star of the 1960s before he left the country. But it was not until the 1980s when the already famous Israeli Rock star Yehuda Poliker, the son of Greek Holocaust survivors, began to introduce rebetiko into his repertoire, that the music became a sensation. Poliker and friends had formed the popular Rock group “Benzine” in the 1970s, but in 1985 Poliker branched out on his own, producing an album of Greek songs translated into Hebrew (Einayim Sheli). His father was an amateur bouzouki player but he didn’t want his son to learn either the instrument or the language.7 Poliker taught himself the bouzouki, and over the next 25 years he continued to mix Greek and Hebrew songs on his recordings. In 2011, he released KolDavarMazkir Li (Everything Reminds Me), which, like Einayim Sheli, consisted of wellknown Greek songs translated into Hebrew. He sang the title track in Greek with Haris Alexiou, and also recorded a Hebrew version. The album became a gold record. In the summer of 2012, Poliker released a documentary, Jacko and Yehuda Poliker, which contained recordings of his parents singing Thessaloniki Jewish songs in Greek and Ladino, and in the spring of 2014 he recorded another album, playing bouzouki as well as guitar.8 Poliker’s adaption of rebetiko song is unusual in that it has long since ceased to be exotic to Israelis and has become successful mainstream music, even when the lyrics are in Greek. Greek singers like Haris Alexiou and Glykeria are stars in Israel, but Poliker is a home-grown phenomenon, a Rock star who performed in the leading band in the country. However Greek the songs in his repertoire are, Poliker himself is a completely Israeli phenomenon who sometimes

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sings in Greek but does not speak Greek. The success of his cross-over music is enormous. He is still the most popular singer in Israel and has effortlessly co-opted Greek rebetiko music into his own particular style of performance. His deep, resonant voice and serious performance style give Poliker’s rebetiko a gravitas that is unlike anything heard in Greece. One explanation for the popularity of rebetiko music in Israel is the star power of Poliker himself. Another is the absence of a competing tradition except for Arabic music and Western popular music. There is arguably no folk tradition in Israel despite the popularity of Israeli “folk-song”. Geographically, the country belongs in the Middle Eastern musical sphere and Arabic music has always been popular in the country. On the other hand, its large European refugee population influenced Israel’s early popular music. Rebetiko music performed by an already popular singer created a hybrid that appealed to its culturally mixed population. Rebetiko music’s successful transplanting and transformation in France, Italy, and Israel, and its inclusion in “world music” festivals leads us back to the question of whose music this is. It was once argued that much of the music now accepted as part of the rebetiko tradition was not Greek but Turkish, and that was not wholly inaccurate. Without the massive immigration of the Orthodox Christian population from Anatolia to Greece in the 1920s, and the hybrid musical traditions that the immigrants brought with them, rebetiko would not have come into existence. The merging of late Ottoman and local Greek elements created an identifiable musical style known as rebetiko that was associated with its principal instrument, the bouzouki, and with certain dances, notably the zeibekiko and the hasapiko. The popularity of Greek rebetiko music in Turkey is another interesting phenomenon that I have not discussed because it raises issues beyond the scope of this chapter. There is a huge difference between the Turkish reception of music that was often first recorded in Istanbul or Smyrna, and arrived in Greece with the refugees from Asia Minor, and the adoption of that music in cultures for which it represented exoticism. Rebetiko as Mainstream Greek Music However much it was influenced by the music of late nineteenth- and early twentieth-century Asia Minor, rebetiko music as played in Piraeus, Athens, and other urban centers of Greece soon developed a sufficiently distinct Greek character to be accepted by most Greek listeners as their own music. Did that make it a homegrown product? Not in everybody’s book. It took a combination of the recording industry and the postwar adaptations of rebetiko music by famous composers and laiko songwriters to win over middle-class Greeks to the music that not only sounded “oriental” to many Greeks but also had associations with a disreputable milieu. When Theodorakis and Hadjidakis, began setting Greek poetry to their rebetiko-influenced music, the young nation as a whole could lay claim to a pan-Greek music that was not associated with either a class or a region. By then the bouzouki had acquired a national semantic significance that it has never lost.9 “Disemia” and What Is Greek? Ever since scholars began looking at modern Greece there has been controversy about its nature. No other country in Europe has been subjected to the sort of scrutiny directed towards Greece. In its brief history as a nation, Greece has been claimed by neohellenists as an integral part of Europe but recognized as not quite European in its everyday present. Anthropologist Michael

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Herzfeld was one of the first scholars to tackle what he termed the “disemia” of modern Greece – the split between the expectations of neohellenists, and the realities of a country that up until the mid-nineteenth century had been a relatively unimportant province of the Ottoman Empire for 400 years. Herzfeld pointed to the importance of folklore, especially song and dance, in the formation of a national identity.10 The music and dances of various regions of Greece were collected as evidence of a long tradition that might possibly date to pre-Ottoman days, even to ancient times. Dancing figures on Greek vases were said to resemble modern practice. Ancient instruments were shown to resemble modern ones. Musicologists selectively edited the songs they collected as they searched for urtext versions. The singular importance of ancient Greece to the Western world had numerous political and economic consequences for its modern inhabitants, consequences they are still experiencing today, but cultural schizophrenia had its positive side. The Greeks could lay claim to a glorious ancestry as they negotiated to become part of Europe, while they secretly indulged in the modest pleasures of late Ottoman life that included thick, strong coffee, Middle Eastern cuisine, and distinctive folklore. Once they had established themselves as Europeans, the Greeks were free to enjoy the fact that they were not quite that, and to realize that the things which gave Greece its special character included music that was altogether different from the music of Western Europe. So Who Owns Greek Music? Many Greeks would say that the Europeans own Greek music. Having been happy to throw their hat into the European camp and to keep their individual customs out of the discussion of their membership of the club, there was a feeling that modern Greece had come of age. Strangely, during the period of European integration, rebetiko, and particularly zeibekiko dance, became the prime markers of Greekness. Prime ministers and cabinet members couldn’t survive in office without dancing a zeibekiko. Andreas Papandreou, the American-educated economist who led the country during the 1990s, clicked his fingers and bent his knees in the dance, encouraging a mood of national pride, as if a true Greek man was a Zorba at heart. Did the Greeks own the dance or did Zorba own Greece? This question is closely linked to the tourist industry. Does Greece own Santorini, or do the tourists who outnumber local inhabitants by a thousand to one? Twenty-eight million people are expected to visit Greece this summer. The population of Santorini is a little more than 15,000 people. Five million tourists visit the island each year. Once there was a winter season when hotels were closed. Now there are visitors all year round. What do these tourists, who supply most of the island’s income, contribute to the island’s musical culture? They come to see the unique geological formations and ancient sights, but they also arrive with expectations of what modern Greek culture is like. Those expectations are centered on two things: food and music. Just as Greece relied on Western intervention to help overthrow Ottoman rule, so they rely on an international fascination with the monuments of ancient Greece, and an image of modern Greece as an uninhibited paradise, to “sell” Greece to foreign tourists. A musical cliché, shaped by films like Zorba, My Big Fat Greek Wedding, and Mamma Mia, has created expectations that tour organizers and restaurant proprietors feel bound to satisfy: Greek music must be danceable and involve bouzoukia (pl.). The visitors may be said to own not only much of Greece but also its musical products. When they return to their own countries, travelers want to listen to what

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they heard in a Greek disco bar, or in some taverna where there was live music. Covers of CDs and YouTube videos entitled Best Greek Songs, or Greek Relaxing Music feature the blue dome and white buildings of the village of Oia on Santorini. On the covers and in videos, summer is eternal, the girls wear bikinis, and gaze out to sea. The music is either a mix of syrtaki and fast bouzouki tunes, or disco compilations.11 Diaspora Greeks and Conservative Musical Tastes Not all the consumers of this musical potpourri are non-Greek tourists. A substantial proportion of those who visit Greek in the summer are of Greek descent. Some are genuinely interested in what is happening in Greek music these days. Others combine a visit to their aunts or grandparents, perhaps, with a trip to the more popular islands, where they join in the hedonistic pursuits of international tourists. When they return to their large Australian or American communities, they may or may not have broadened their musical tastes. What determines the tastes of diaspora Greeks is partly the period during which their families emigrated. What American Greeks listen to is rather different from what Australian Greeks listen to, but in both cases it tends to be the music of nostalgia. One measure of the popularity of Greek artists for these communities is the frequency with which they are brought to perform in major venues. Stars whose careers span decades and who are not heard so often in their home countries are still popular in the USA. Maria Farandouri, Yiannis Parios, Stamatis Kokotas, Haris Alexiou, Glykeria, and the perennially popular George Dalaras continue to fill auditoriums on their US tours, and younger singers who perform a traditional repertoire like Yiannis Kotsiras, Petros Imvrios, Sakis Rouvas, Melina Aslanidou, Yiannis Ploutarchos, Antonis Remos, and Elli Kokkinou are also in demand. The success of these stars in the USA suggests that they provide audiences with a sense of familiarity and continuity that reinforces their sense of community. Greek Rock, rap, and jazz have never been popular in the diaspora. Greek-Americans respond warmly to rebetiko, to folk music from the regions their families come from, and to music that was popular in Greece from the 1960s to the 1990s. Unlike Greeks in Greece, who are living through a severe economic depression, diaspora Greeks are mostly economically secure. For them, Greece is a place they go on their holidays or to visit relatives. They do not respond to angry Greek rap artists expressing their frustration, or to young artists experimenting with new forms. As for most foreign visitors, theirs is a Greece of eternal summer, tables laden with good food, music, and dancing. It is a long time since their parents or grandparents were forced to flee poverty and war. Homeless Music “World music” claims to represent the cultures of people from various regions and countries, but it is seldom representative of what people listen to in those places. Greek musicians are relatively well represented in “world music”, but they are generally not the artists heard on Greek radio, or in Greek nightclubs. Among the most successful of the “world music” groups who combine traditional Greek music with other traditions is En Chordais. Their origins are in northern Greece and if they can be said to have a home it is in Thessaloniki. Their music is not contemporary; it is perhaps best described as late Ottoman. They sing some “Byzantine” music, as well as rebetiko, and regional folk, but like many world music artists they collaborate

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with musicians from a number of other countries, even from China. Their concerts are popular in France and the USA and they have won several international awards for their CDs. Like Eleftheria Arvanitaki, who collaborates with non-Greek musicians, and Savina Yannatou, who sings in various languages, En Chordais bring elements of the Greek tradition to their wideranging collaborations. Do they represent what is happening in Greek music? That depends on who you ask, but they have their counterparts in other countries where traditional live music is becoming hard to find. They are, in some ways, more like classical musicians. They perform a selection of the best music Greece has produced and mix that with the traditions of other countries to produce a category of music that is as homeless and peripatetic as the Gypsies. Why Are We Listening to the Bouzouki? As Dario Martinelli asks in his Coda to the Italian volume in this series, Made in Italy, who is to blame for the stereotypical perception of Greek music? (Martinelli 2014). Are tourists, Greeks or Greek descendants, Hollywood producers or the recording industry to blame for the fact that the stereotype of Greek music bears so little relation to the music Greeks listen to in Greece? Has the “Zorba factor” interfered with post-1960s musical perception? Are we looking at an invented tradition like the fashion for tartans and kilts invented in Scotland in the nineteenth century? (Trevor-Roper 1992). National traditions are invented and persist to the extent that they satisfy not only a market but also a desire. Kilts stuck not because Highland Scots purchased yards of cloth, but because they wanted to distinguish themselves from Lowland Scots. The bouzouki music of the 1930s to the 1960s stuck because it distinguished Greek music from Turkish and European music, and made Greeks feel they had not just a series of local musical traditions but also a national one. It also encouraged a new kind of tourism. Ruins brought the tourists of the nineteenth and early twentieth centuries to Greece. Bouzoukia, beaches, and bikinis brought a new wave of tourists who continue to outnumber the locals in many parts of the country. Sadly, there is little sign that the taste for Greek music is about to change, or that the innovative and interesting music discussed in this volume will become popular beyond Greece’s borders. Notes 1 2

3 4 5 6 7

8 9

The reason for the tempo change was that the director believed that the scene was dragging. He asked the composer if he could speed it up, and Theodorakis obliged by doubling the tempo (personal conversation with the composer). I may have been partly responsible for transliterating the word with an “m” (Holst 1975). There is no need to discuss the question here, but the more common spelling is without the “m”. When referring to the music in general, it is more common to talk of the rebetika in the plural, but when the word is used as an adjective, the singular is more common – a rebetiko singer, a rebetiko song. See Holst (1975) and the documentary based on it: Rembetika the Blues of Greece (1983). Having performed with them once, I was interested to see that they had established a loyal French following who enjoyed every reference to dope or drugs. See www.youtube.com/watch?v=AzLv7228UlQ (accessed June 7, 2017). See www.youtube.com/watch?v=AW1IaEMeQ7A (accessed June 7, 2017). Poliker’s partner and manager Yakov Gilad contacted me in 1986 in Tel Aviv and asked if I could check Yehuda’s pronunciation of certain Greek words before he released a recording that included rebetiko songs. Later the same year I arranged to meet him in Greece so that he could purchase a bouzouki from Thanassis Athanassiou, on the island of Aigina. He used that instrument on later recordings. The success of the album must have surprised his father, who later agreed to record Greek-Jewish songs for him. See http://darkmp3.ru/album-kol-davar-mazkir-li-everything-reminds-me-9984371.html (accessed June 8, 2017). There is a large bibliography on the prejudice against early Asia Minor-style music and later rebetika. See e.g. Holst-Warhaft (2002), Hadzipantazis (1986), Gauntlett (1989).

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11

In his book Ours Once More, Herzfeld argues that early Greek folklorists deliberately sought out material that might suggest a continuity with the civilization of ancient Greece which was otherwise difficult to establish. In Anthropology through the Looking Glass (1987), he examined the schizophrenia of modern Greek culture, poised as it is between an icon of Western civilization and a country tied closely to its Byzantine and Ottoman past. www.youtube.com/watch?v=wxqEQOb5Azs.

Bibliography Bernal, Martin. 1987. Black Athena: The Afroasiatic Roots of Classical Civilization. Vol. I. London: Free Association Books. Gauntlett, Stathis. 1989. “Orpheus in the Criminal Underworld: Myth in and about Rebetika,” Mantatophoros 34: 7–48. Hadzipantazis, Thodoros. 1986. Tis Asiatidos Mousis Erastai: I Akmi tou Athinaikou Café-Aman sta Chronia tis Vasilias tou Georgiou A’. Athens: Stigmi. Herzfeld, Michael. 1982. Ours Once More: Folklore, Ideology, and the Making of Modern Greece. Austin: University of Texas Press. Herzfeld, Michael. 1987. Anthropology through the Looking-Glass: Critical Ethnography in the Margins of Europe. Cambridge: Cambridge University Press. Holst, Gail. 1975. Road to Rembetika: Music of a Greek Sub-Culture. Songs of Love, Sorrow, and Hashish. Fourth edition 2006. Evia: Denise Harvey. Holst-Warhaft, Gail. 2002. “Re-orienting the Rebetika.” Musica e Storia 10(2): 547–567. Martinelli, Dario. 2014. “Lasciate mi Cantare and Other Diseases: Italian Popular Music, as Represented Abroad.” In Made in Italy: Studies in Popular Music, ed. Franco Fabbri and Goffredo Plastino. New York, London: Routledge, pp. 207–220. Trevor-Roper, Hugh. 1992. “The Invention of Tradition: The Highland Tradition of Scotland.” In The Invention of Tradition, ed. Eric Hobsbawm and Terence Ranger. Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, pp. 15–42.

Discography Vinicio Capossela. Rebetiko Gymnastas (Rebetiko Gymnast), Ponderosa Music and Art, 2012, CD 103. Kyriakos Kalaitzidis and En Chordais. The Musical Voyages of Marco Polo. World Village/Harmonia Mundi, WVF 479092, 2014, CD. Yehuda Poliker. Enayim Sheli. CBS 1985, LP Album. Yehuda Poliker. Everything Reminds Me. Helicon Music, HL 02-831, 2011, CD. Sex, Drugs, and Rebetiko. http://freemusicarchive.org/music/Sex_Drugs__Rebetiko/. Theodorakis, Mikis. Zorba soundtrack (original). “Zorba’s Dance.” EMI MINOS 14C 0 70221245. Theodorakis, Mikis. Atenna. Zorba the Greek. GFS CYS CD 143. Various. Zorba’s Dance (Memories from Greece). LaserLight Digital 15180, 1990, CD.

Filmography Never on Sunday, 1960, directed by Jules Dassin. MGM Home Video, 2003. Rembetika the Blues of Greece (documentary), 1983, directed by Philippe de Montigny. Video, DNM productions (Australia). Zorba the Greek, 1964, directed by Michael Cacoyiannis. DVD, 20th Century Fox Film Cooperation.

17 A Head Full of Gold A Discussion with Yiannis Angelakas Dafni Tragaki

Before Introduction Yiannis Angelakas began his musical trajectories as the singer of the Thessaloniki-based punk Rock group Trypes which became immensely popular during the 1980s and 1990s. Many of their songs are still performed at the audience’s request today, inspiring younger generations of listeners. In the 2000s, following the breakup of Trypes, he collaborated with musicians attached to diverse scenes (among them, Nikos Veliotis, Dinos Sadikis, “Episkeptes”, Thanasis Papakonstantinou, Psarogiorgis, Coti K) and experimented with cross-genre musical projects blending elements from dub, rebetiko, Rock, Cretan traditional music, blues, entechno or electronica. Angelakas, an everflourishing singer-poet-musician attracting cross-generational crowds of enthusiasts in Greece while still maintaining his personal cynical stigma, is also famous for his critical public voice occasionally targeting religious leaders, powerful politicians, mainstream media and artists, tycoons, TVcelebrities, and lifestyle gurus. On Editing Our Conversations This chapter is destined to be incomplete, because it dares to deal with a life so rich that it already appears to last forever, as is often the case with people whose work is understood to be a watershed in the history, in this case of Greek popular music. Of course every piece of writing is perhaps inevitably incomplete as an intellectual product, although throughout the preparation of this chapter I was perpetually puzzled by the question: how to accommodate Yiannis Angelakas’ musical life in a few pages? The question was becoming more and more pressing as my ethnographic encounters with him, starting in 2014, constantly opened up new pathways for knowing his world. To that extent, this chapter owes a lot to Yiannis Angelakas, whose contribution to the “final cut” – in film-making terms – of our transcribed discussions was immensely helpful. The following discussion is the edited version (that is, a relatively co-authored editing) of several hours of open discussions. There are several aspects of his artistic profile which are not represented here, such as his cooperation with acclaimed Greek film-makers, his support of social movements, or his publicly expressed political views against nationalism, the far right, orthodox religious leaders, and contemporary capitalism, for instance.1 Although these are equally important topics, we considered this version of our discussions more suitable for providing a working representation of the poet-musician-singer Yiannis Angelakas for the uninitiated reader outside Greece, who is perhaps less familiar with particular topics of Greek cultural production and history as well as, for reasons relating foremost to the flow of the

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transcribed conversation and the text’s economy. Occasionally, the discussion is intersected with translated song lyrics and writings – also carefully selected in the process of co-editing the text – which are intended to further expose readers to his aesthetics and transgressive imagination while commenting upon his spoken words. The following dialogue is thus a concise representation of Angelakas’ radical musical world and public voice that thrilled the generation of the 1990s and continues to be thrilling, or, for others, disturbing today with their power to inspire cynical rejection and affective dissent from various certainties and commonplaces featuring Greek society at least. Prin arhisoun ola Eihan kiolas arhisei Prin ftaso imoun idi ekei Ta ihni mou kai o dromos proypirhan T’akolouthisa Vrika ena spiti stis floges Bika mesa kai tou ‘vala fotia. Translation:2 Before everything started They had already started Before I arrived I was already there My traces and the road pre-existed I followed them I found a house in flames I went in and put it on fire. (Angelakas [1999] 2016: 11) What was it like growing up in Neapoli in the 1960s? I was born and lived for the first 19 years of my life in Neapoli, a quiet, poor district of Thessaloniki [Northern Greece]. I’m talking about Neapoli of the 1960s, which had nothing to do with the daunting cement-monster bearing the same name today. I’m talking about a poor man’s paradise that was full of sandlots, gardens, houses, neighborhoods, communities of suffering, happy and foremost alive people, who didn’t care about moral and philosophical ideas, such as “solidarity”, “companionship”, “charity”, and so on; they naturally lived their own humanity all together. And we, their lucky children, we were wandering loose in the streets during the summer, bravely growing up. We used to play from morning ‘til night, until we fell apart, knowing well the limits of our poverty and feeling like kings when we could hold in our hands, seldom if ever, a piece of souvlaki or a chocolate. What sort of music did you listen to at home? Sundays were equally festive, our parents used to rest, there was some nice cooked food and the radios used to play various popular songs. Some of them were happy, others were sad, some other songs were (how strange!) happy and sad at the same time. That was the first music

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Figure 17.1 Yiannis Angelakas today. Source: Photograph by Simos Saltiel. Used with permission.

I ever heard. I remember, I was around 4 years old, I listened to a taximi played by a bouzouki – later I realized that it was the introduction to “Synnefiasmeni Kyriaki” [Cloudy Sunday] by Tsitsanis.3 I was charmed and asked my father “what is this?” and he replied that it is an empty pot rolling down a big slope making these sounds. I was haunted, of course, for a long time by this image. I wanted to throw my own pot rolling down such a slope or, even better, to become myself a pot making these magic sounds. In the following years, I listened and learned about Kazantzidis, Bithikotsis, Tsitsanis, Poly Panou, Panos Gavalas, Yiota Lydia, and others, and I saw my father and my uncles dancing to zeibekiko once in a sober and reserved manner, once totally dizzy and derailed.4 I always felt that with this music and with this dance they found the way to exorcize the madness that was burning them due to the injustice and hardships of poverty. The hardships of poverty that you describe took place during the Junta years. Do you remember that era? One night all my father’s kinfolk gathered at our home, six brothers together with their families, my grandpa and granny, to say farewell to my uncle, my aunt, and my beloved cousin Tasoula, who were about to leave for Australia the next day. They were singing and dancing popular and old folk-songs all night long, they were drinking and laughing, they were debating, they were embracing each other, they were crying, shouting, and singing again. In the morning we, all together, young and old, posed (I still have the photo) with long faces in front of the railway

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station’s gate. There was a big sign on the top: “Long live the revolution of the 21st April.”5 All those things were taking place around 1968. I was 8 years old then and I knew nothing, neither about Junta, nor about democracy; I never heard political discussions at home. Sto dromo na me vgaleis pou anevainei gia ti dikia sou kontini Ameriki m’ena kleidi ki ena peristrofo stin tsepi thelo na trexo ekei. Translation: Take me to the road that goes up to your own nearby America with a key and a revolver in the pocket I need to run over there. (“I Dikia sou Kontini Ameriki” [Your Own Nearby America], Party ston 13o Orofo [Party on the 13th Floor], 1987) Back in those years we used to spend the summer together with my little sister at my mother’s village, at the plain of Serres, where progress did not reach yet. Together with my grandpa (who was a refugee from Eastern Thrace and ex-musician) we used to spend endless hours squatting on the floor at home listening to amanedes and to the noises of shortwave radio frequencies.6 We were there, when the call to arms in 1974 was ordered; my father came in a rush and took us back to Thessaloniki.7 Otan tha ‘rtheis na me xethapseis ap’ tis stahtes kai dioxeis apo pano mou oli ti skouria kai valeis tis rodes mou se rages ki ego archiso na kylao xana Tote oi lypes tha me psachnoun ki anerges tha thrinoun tha peftoun maniasmenes oi vrohes kai tha rotoun ti egine ekeino to treno pou evlepe ta alla trena na pernoun. Translation: When you come to unbury me from the ashes and take away from me all the rust and put my wheels back on the rails and I start rolling and rolling again Then the sorrows will be looking after me and out of work will be lamenting

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the rains will be falling furiously and will be asking What happened to that train that used to look at the other trains passing by. (“Treno” [Train], Ennia Pliromena Tragoudia [Nine Paid Songs], 1993) What happened to the poor’s paradise? All the while, the small houses in the neighborhood were little by little demolished and big blocks of flats were built in their place, and we all, young and old, more or less believed that this upcoming modern way of life was going to be better for everyone. In a few years we found ourselves caged within apartments-boxes, nailed-in cheap couches in front of the new madness of the TV box. The trip without return to our degeneration had begun. Sunday noons became boring, the families were absorbed in their isolated micro-world, the neighborhoods were fading away, the radio used to play some populist, nerveless songs, with stuffy bouzouki tunes and naive lyrics like “Na ‘tane to ‘21” (I Wish It Was ’21), “Dihos tin kardoula sou, kardoula mou” (Without your little heart, my little heart), and so on. What happened to our deepest pains? Where did our wonderful popular songs disappear, the songs with their harmolipi [joyful sorrow]? I was wondering and I already suspected the answers. Lionoun ta matia mou sto fos tis tileorasis me nanourizei mia strimmeni melodia osoi pernoun ti hora tis apognosis pathainoun amnisia. Translation: My eyes are melting in the TV’s light a cranky tune is lulling myself those who pass by the land of despair suffer from amnesia. (“Amnisia” [Amnesia], Trypes [Trypes], 1985) Yet, there was also the censored political song of Mikis Theodorakis, for instance, that was further popularized following the fall of the Junta. In the following days of metapolitefsi my eyes opened.8 I saw at last what I started suspecting a year ago, with the Polytehnio (I asked my father then and I only received a “don’t bother with this” answer).9 I came to know about dictatorship and about Karamanlis, who was, eventually, going to bring us democracy.10 I came to know that my father was a communist and thus that communists were not those bulky, unshaved, violent beast-humans, who were dangerous for all of us, the genuine Greeks and, more important, that we were, at last, going to listen to the censored revolutionary music by someone named Mikis Theodorakis. That was news! Unfortunately, the first Theodorakis song that I’ve heard was “Ti Romiosini Mi Tin Klais” [Don’t Cry for Romiosini] with the voice of Yiorgos Dalaras.11 I was so disappointed that

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I almost burst into tears. Hopefully, we began listening to a few songs by the Beatles and the Rolling Stones and thus we came to realize that although nothing was going on in our country, there were many nice things going on out there, in the globe. Very soon we came to know Pink Floyd, Led Zeppelin, Deep Purple. In the following years we got off the ground with Yiannis Petridis’ radio broadcast.12 Myrizeis thanato ma ego se gyroferno den eho dynami makria na kratitho vazo stin akri to myalo mou nikimeno mesa stis stachtes sou dipsao na vretho San tote pou mas tromaze to isycho fengari san tote pou matoname mazi monoi se enan agnosto nekro planiti erotevmenoi schizofreneis. Translation: You smell of death but I move around you I don’t have the strength to stay away I put my defeated mind aside I’m thirsty to find myself in your ashes Like then when the quiet moon used to scare us like then when we used to bleed together alone on an unknown dead planet schizophrenics in love. (“Erotevmenoi Schizofreneis” [Schizophrenics in Love], Party ston 13o Orofo [Party on the 13th Floor], 1987) It was impossible to follow, let alone become attracted to, our post-dictatorship political song;13 it sounded so filthy to us, self-righteous, uninspired, and anti-erotic. It became the seedbed for new artistic and political careers. “The socialists” guided with drumbeats [meaning in a triumphal way] the transformation of the country to a camp of consumers and loan-holders. Einai oi anases ton lykon pou trigyrnan’ mesa sto soma mou einai oi anases ton lykon pou xagrypnan’ kato ap’ to stroma mou einai oi anases ton lykon pou stamatoun exo ap’ tin porta mou einai oi anases ton lykon pou kyvernoun tin agria hora mou Den einai arrostia afto pou skiazei kai varainei to myalo kai ta podia mou.

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Translation: They are the wolves’ breaths traveling inside my body they are the wolves’ breaths kept awake under my mattress they are the wolves’ breaths stopping outside my door they are the wolves’ breaths governing my wild country It is not sickness that overshadows and weighs down my feet and my mind. (“Oi Anases ton Lykon” [The Wolves’ Breaths], Oi Anases ton Lykon [The Wolves’ Breaths], 2005) The 1980s’ so-called socialist years was also the era when you become involved with the Punk Rock scene. How do you remember those days? At home things were getting worse. My parents were transformed to unresponsive, depressive TV viewers and my father used to violently lash out against me. He didn’t like my long hair, he didn’t like my outfit, the music that I listened to, and so on. The leftist patriarchal system at home (which is the same and identical with that of the right) was unbearable. I picked up a few things and left the family shelter, leaving behind several discs and a turntable. Gria poutana pou xyrizei ta podia tis giname arrostoi ap’ aftina oloi psychomama pou skotonei t’ agoria tis einai paraxeni afti i poli Vlepo sta matia sou ton tromo na horevei mi me rotas an niotho dynatos mes sto mialo mou i trela arhizei n’ agrievei steile mou minima an eimai zontanos. Translation: An old whore who is shaving her legs we all became sick from her psycho-mama who kills her boys this city is strange I see terror dancing in your eyes don’t ask me if I feel strong inside my mind the madness is getting wild send me a message in case I’m alive. (“Paraxeni Poli” [Strange City], Trypes [Trypes], 1985)

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In the following years I lived at the center of Thessaloniki, in students’ apartments. I used to hang out at the Rock haunts which were rising then in the city, I used to follow the Thessalonikian Rock groups that were gigging in various makeshift, laid-back concerts happening here and there. I used to listen to piratetapes which were sold at the university’s camp, to psychedelic Rock, and to the wonderful rebetiko songs of the 1930s. I came, at last, to deeply know Vamvakaris and Batis and Delias and Hatzichristos and several others, and I realized that this music was the greatest moment of the neohellenic culture.14 I could imagine rebetiko kompanies [music groups] playing in 3000 AD reproducing the early rebetiko rhythms and its superb tunes moving along the centuries undamaged. Sometime then Punk came and gave us a new force; it showed us the way to make our own band, to play our music, to bring out our madness, and to respond to the stupidity that conquered our neohellenic society. Pera ap’ t’ astra ein’ I dikia mas geitonia katevikame me gelia kai ta organa ston omo ela kante mas ligaki syntrofia kourastikame ap’ to dromo ... Tetoia nyhta magemeni kai glykia mas thymizei ena fthinoporo ston Krono ade as paixoume mia teleftaia penia opou na ‘nai xanavgainoume sto dromo. Translation: Beyond the stars is our neighborhood we stepped down with laughter and the instruments over our shoulders come on join us for some company we’re tired from traveling Such an enchanted and sweet night it reminds us of a Fall in Saturn come on let’s play a last penia 15 we’re about to hit the road again. (“Episkeptes” [Visitors], Apo ‘Do kai Pano [From Here and Over], 2005) What was this “neohellenic society” that bothered you? The media and the private TV-channels of the upper urban class imposed their vulgarity and fake-glamorous aesthetics next to the cheap popular song as our official national culture. The people, at the moment with full stomachs at last, unconditionally surrendered to easy living, bad taste, and moral stripping, while proudly watching their filthy mangas politicians dancing together with their henchmen some supposedly sophisticated florozeibekika (wussy-zeibekiko) full of arrogance, conceit, and self-righteousness.16 Every dance turn cost a few million euros, although, then nobody understood nothing, and everything was “nice”.

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Figure 17.2 Trypes. Source: Photograph by Simos Saltiel. Used with permission.

In the midst of this humiliating situation the most beautiful story of my life took over, the story of Trypes that ended 20 years later, with seven to eight albums, countless crazy gigs and our baggage full of beautiful, difficult, wonderful experiences. A few years before the end of Trypes, all those memories, sounds, senses, reflections, which somehow fell asleep inside me, reawakened in high spirits urgently demanding to become part of the soundworlds that we mastered together with Trypes, or by myself. Akouo tis thalasses kai ta potamia sou akouo to gelio akouo to klama sou tis melodies pou genniountai sta splahna sou tis politeies kai tous anthropous pou taxidevoun kato ap’to derma sou akouo tin alithia sou ki akouo to psema kai mia mikri zesti agonia mou glykainei to aima. Translation: I listen to your seas and your rivers I listen to your laughter I listen to your crying

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the melodies that are born inside your innards the cities and the humans who travel under your skin I listen to your truth and I listen to the lie and a little warm agony sweetens my blood. (“Akouo tin Agapi” [I Listen to Love], Kefali Gemato Chrysafi [A Head Full of Gold], 1996) And perhaps together with “Episkeptes” later on? That was the idea of a big orchestra which became more and more clear inside me, an orchestra with percussions, strings, winds, guitars, and electronics that was going to filter rebetiko and our traditional rhythmology with Rock, Dub and Psychedelia. The band, Episkeptes, was awaiting its realization. . . . Anyway, as I left behind the artistic and commercial safety of Trypes, without caring about whether all those new “old” things that we were doing were going to have an

Figure 17.3 Yiannis Angelakas and Nikos Veliotis. Source: Photograph by Simos Saltiel. Used with permission.

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artistic or commercial success, I started walking alone my new pathway feeling happy and complete. . . .I went on without caring about the discontentment of dogmatic Rock fans and the rage of the strict exponents of “authentic traditions”. Tradition in Greece will always be alive and dynamic. Everything is happening for the joy of action. Ma ego m’ ena agrio perifano horo san aetos pano ap’ tis lipes tha petaxo siga min klapso, siga mi fovitho siga min klapso, siga mi fovitho tha pao na chtiso mia folia ston ourano tha katevaino mono an thelo na gelaso siga min klapso, siga mi fovitho. Translation: I with a wild and proud dance however will fly like an eagle over the sorrows I won’t cry I won’t be afraid I won’t cry I won’t be afraid I’m going to build a nest up in heaven I’ll go down only if I want to laugh I won’t cry I won’t be afraid. (“Siga Min Klapso” [I Won’t Cry], Apo ‘Do kai Pano [From Here and Over], 2005) And you also run your own label, right? Together with my partners we founded the independent label “alltogheternow” in 2005. Until today we issued around ten CDs and vinyl discs, all of them carrying, more or less, something from rebetiko, Cretan, and Epirot tradition, and our own psychedelic mood. The new pathway was and is joyful, refreshing, and liberating. During these years I had the time to meet two new friends, partners and mentors, Dinos Sadikis, who had already experimented with rebetiko and psychedelic style together with his band, En Plo, towards the end of the 1980s, and Nikos Veliotis, one of the most important and subversive musicians that I’ve met so far. I’m thankful to both of them and to my eternal colleagues, sound engineers, producers, and musicians, Titos Kariotakis and Christos Harbilas. Mesa mou o aeras pou fysa de leei na imerepsei mou xesikonei tin kardia kai mou skorpaei tin skepsi. Translation: The wind blowing inside me is not meant to be tamed

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it unsettles my heart and it scatters my thought. (“Mesa mou o Aeras pou Fysa” [The Wind Blowing Inside Me], Apo ‘Do kai Pano [From Here and Over], 2005. Lyrics: Yiannis Angelakas. Music: Yiorgos Xylouris, aka Psarogiorgis) Your band, “Trypes”, raised, I think, a voice of opposition against the mainstream. What did you oppose? Or, what did you reject? In the midst of the 1990s the degeneration and stupefaction of our neohellenic “socialist” society was successfully completed. This society was about to run like a goofy, carefree and blind, until the middle of the 2000s. The model of “Ellinara” [big Greek man], who triumphed with his stomach full and proudly dancing on the top of barrels and tables some silly tsifteteli pop hits was spread by the media throughout the country (especially by the new, “free” private TV channels, which were founded by our eternal leading-businessmen).17 The stock-market and its profits were at their best. The major part of the population unconditionally surrendered to the money cult, that of material wealth and moral disarrangement, without past, without future, without caring about what was going on in the rest of the planet (even when the Americans bombed Yugoslavia, our neighbor). They thought that they were the smartest manges on earth producing, of course, the relevant vulgar, stupid, and introverted subculture that they supported and it supported them, that celebrated their stupidity as a “supreme global value” (then it was called “quality”, “song of quality”, “art song”, etc.). Nobody reacted, everyone was bribed, even our intellectuals were looking for neo-orthodoxy and the immaculate virtues of our nation in skylladika [dog-dens, bouzouki nightclubs]. Kyrie evlogise tis zorikes karieres mas kai t’akriva politeli mas katafygia me doxa stolize tis nychtes kai tis meres mas na xelogiazoume nekra akroatiria Kyrie sikone psylotera tis mites mas kane ta moutra mas n’astraftoune mistiria Me chrima gemize tis meres kai tis nychtes mas na xelogiazoume nekra akroatiria Eimai Theos skia lamperi eimai Theos mia anoigmeni pligi. Translation: Lord bless our mighty careers and our expensive luxurious shelters adorn with glory our nights and days so as to seduce dead audiences Lord raise our noses higher make our faces mysteriously shining

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fill in our days and nights with money so as to seduce dead audiences I’m God a bright shadow I’m God an opened wound. (“Artiszt” [Artiszt], Mesa sti Nychta ton Allon [Inside the Night of the Others], 1999) In the midst of this appalling scenery Trypes were living their own creative take-off together with other Rock, hip-hop, and electro groups (Xylina Spathia, Diafana Krina, Stereo Nova, Active Member). We were singing Greek lyrics, we recorded LPs that became gold and we played in front of huge audiences without any support from the media, sustaining in this way a form of reaction and resistance against the general mess. An de horas mesa se mia athlia patrida an de sou ftanei mia elpida tyfli an de horas mesa se mia oneiropagida an de horas se mia angalia fylaki Tote ti krima, ti krima, ti krima pantou perisseveis kai pantou xepsychas tote ti krima, ti krima, ti krima de horas pouthena de horas pouthena. Translation: If you don’t fit inside a vile country if a blind hope is not enough for you if you don’t fit inside a dream-catcher if you don’t fit inside a prison hug [Chorus] Then what a pity, a pity, a pity you’re superfluous everywhere and you die everywhere then what a pity, a pity, a pity you don’t fit anywhere, you don’t fit anywhere. (“De Hora Pouthena” [You Don’t Fit Anywhere], Ennia Pliromena Tragoudia [Nine Paid Songs], 1993) It seems that next to the Punk Rock scene outside Greece, you are also inspired by the local musical past, especially by rebetiko or Cretan folksong among other traditions. What is the place of this past in your work? Sometime then, in the middle of the 1990s, initially by instinct and without any thought or idea in my mind, like the hungry baby rushing into his mother’s breast, I restarted listening to prewar rebetiko and traditional song recordings. I re-immersed myself once more into the magic of rebetiko song. This time though, as a little bit older and more experienced listener, I felt – with

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Figure 17.4 Yiannis Angelakas and Dinos Sadikis. Source: Photograph by Simos Saltiel. Used with permission.

all my senses up and running – like losing myself in the sounds, the explosions, the colors of this unique and phantasmagoric big-bang, which gave birth to our urban popular song towards the end of the 1920s and during the early 1930s. I listened to the superb music of another dimension, to a world so far away and so familiar at the same time. The achievements of those small music groups featuring three instruments (guitar, bouzouki, baglamadaki) and one voice that managed to transform so inspiringly our Smyrna, Balkan, and folk traditions into an original, captivating, and full of pain, joy, and pride music seemed to me so unthinkable and supernatural. . . . I started reading books describing that era, biographies and autobiographies of musicians, interviews and confessions of those who survived those crazy years. . . . My mind raged and my heart fell passionately in love with those . . . ragged bums coming from the stars and landing in the refugee camps, the brothels and the hash-dens of Piraeus, being chased, beaten, imprisoned, and censored by those in power and the political parties and, nonetheless, with the strength of their own despair, the pulsation and the joy of their own creativity, they managed to fulfill their mission, to offer to the suffering people of this country their own popular song. I became nostalgic for the ethos and the pulsation of an era which I haven’t lived, yet I sensed that it was inscribed in my blood. All these exceptional people, Markos, Batis, Chatzichristos, Delias, Tsitsanis, and all the rebetes [rebetiko people], together with Hadjidakis, and some poets and writers of the interwar era made me feel again well for living and existing in this deranged country. There were, of course, major questions troubling me. How could most of this country’s citizens prefer splashing in those small, shallow lakes, full of shit, which were set here and then,

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and how could they refuse looking for a while behind, at their near past, at those superb, magnificent seashores leading them to the stars, and revealed for them by some “crazy”, “bright” co-citizens? I kind of feel a sense of loss in your words. How did we arrive in the contemporary anti-erotic pseudo-crying of our self-righteous “popular” singers moving away from the erotic integrity of our rebetiko songs (like Vamvakaris’ “ta matoklada sou lampoun/san ta loulouda tou kampou”)?18 Who cut the thread connecting us with our recent cultural achievements leading the people into oblivion and spiritual nothingness and how? What is the future of a country that uses art as a medium for profit, cheap fame, and power? Mono o pseftis mesa mou giatrevei to mialo mou aftos me yperaspizetai kai thelei to kalo mou Mono o pseftis mesa mou glykainei tin kardia mou aftos mou dinei dynami kai treho sti douleia mou na megalosoun na genoun pseftes kai ta paidia mou. Translation: Only the liar inside me heals my mind he defends myself and works for my good Only the liar inside me sweetens my heart he gives me power and I run to my job lets my kids grow up and become liars too. (“Pseftis” [Liar], Isycha Tragoudia gia Anemela Livadia [Quiet Songs for Carefree Valleys], 2016) The songs of Trypes, however, were songs of the present. Songs of dissent, one could perhaps say. There is a rather wild world in their sounds and lyrics, don’t you think? If you’d asked then, at the beginning of the 1980s, for whom we write our songs, I’d have replied: for us and our buddies and for every kid wandering at the hangouts in the city center, who was

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socially homeless, homeless of political party, and often enough, literally homeless, like myself. We have seemed to be dark, damned and marginal, yet we didn’t feel so; we supported the opposition party called Life (as once Blixa said in one of his interviews).19 We, quite the contrary, believed that marginal and declined were all those millions of stupefied, bad-tasted and conspicuous citizens, who have been flourishing around us. I wrote my first lyrics out in the street within this atmosphere. I found a way to reply with irony, cynicism, and tenderness to all the good, bad, crazy situations that I used to live and we lived together with friends day-today. Dekatreis orofous pano ap’ti gi amihania, panikos ki ypsofovia hathike i skala, to asanser de leitourgei mas vasanizei mia theotreli ypopsia Adeia boukalia horevoun ston aera ki anastatonoun filysihous polites pou olo koitane pros ta edo ki anisyhoun pos vrethikan ekei aftoi oi alites? ... Dropi gia ta matia sou dropi na einai adeia san ta potiria mas. Translation: Thirteen floors above the ground embarrassment, panic and vertigo the staircase is lost, the elevator doesn’t work we’re tortured by an insane suspicion Empty bottles are dancing in the air and upset peaceful citizens who stare all the time over here and worry how did those bums get there? ... Shame for your eyes shame for being empty like our glasses. (“Party ston 13o Orofo” [Party on the 13th Floor], Party ston 13o Orofo [Party on the 13th Floor], 1987) 20 This is how I wrote “Paraxeni Poli” [Strange City], “Asfaleia” [Security], “Amnisia” [Amnesia], “Party ston 13o Orofo” [Party at the 13th Floor], that is another song for another lost generation, “Taxidiara Psychi” [Wandering Soul] (my friend, Gita, used to travel now and then to North

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Europe looking for the ideal city, where she would be able to live free, away from the Greek mess, and she constantly returned feeling confused yet smiling; today, in her sixties, she continues leading her crazy and non-conforming life somewhere at Exarcheia [central Athenian district]). There are people and events behind most of the songs in the early records by Trypes. Of course, ever since our early recordings, in 1985, I had a sort of metaphysical certainty (although the reality was altogether against us) that one day our music was going to reach bigger audiences. When I dared to say this to some friends, they looked at me as if I was an alien and they used to laugh. Londino, Amsterdam i Verolino echeis xehasei pou akrivos theleis na pas osa ki an eho daneika pia de sou dino na kaneis voltes me to magic bus Taxidiara psychi ki an thelo dipla sou einai dyskolo na meno kairos na do ti dikia mou zoi s’ afto to taxidi de tha se perimeno. Translation: London, Amsterdam or Berlin you forgot where exactly you want to go no matter how much I’ve got I won’t lend you anymore to wander around with the magic bus Wandering soul it is difficult to stay with you although I want it it’s about time to look at my own life I won’t wait for you in this journey. (“Taxidiara Psychi” [Wandering Soul], Trypes [Trypes], 1985) Yet, you gradually became popular, very popular, especially among youth audiences during the early 1990s. What sort of popularity was that? The big-bang eventually took place in 1993 with our fourth album, Ennia Pliromena Tragoudia [Nine Paid Songs]. In our country then the revolting students used to protest every day for better education (which we never had), while out, in the globe, Rock music was again at the forefront with Nevermind by Nirvana; as we were going through the most cordial stage of our group’s history, we were singing “De Horas Pouthena” [You Don’t Fit Anywhere] and “Treno” [Train]. We were enraptured in front of the thousands of kids, without any promotion at all from the media, proudly smiling for the revenge of our insane youth. We went on with the same force and success with our next two albums, Kefali Gemato Chrysafi [A Head Full of Gold], which is my favorite, in 1996, our last record Mesa sti Nychta ton Allon [Inside the Night of the Others, 1999] and one live recording, Krata to Soou, Maimou [Keep On With the Show, Monkey].

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Figure 17.5 Album cover of Kefali Gemato Chrysafi. Source: Artwork by Simos Saltiel.

Borei na m’eheis apo kato kai me to zori na me thaveis sti siopi na epimeneis pos mou axizei ena adeio piato kai san skyli na me klotsas me sti vrohi Ma oso ki an thes na to pisteveis pos mou ‘heis parei kiolas tin psychi ki otan akoma tha nomizeis pos mia gia panta eho hathei Ego tha flegomai tha anthizo tha giortazo tha anatello tha se kaio Tha katastrefo me tragoudia tis psychis sou to bourdelo tha anatello. Translation:21 You may keep me down and bury me into the silence by force you may insist that I deserve an empty dish and kick me like a dog into the rain No matter how much you want to believe that you’ve already took my soul away

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even when you’ll still be thinking that I’m lost once and for all I’ll I’ll I’ll I’ll I’ll I’ll I’ll

flame blossom celebrate rise be burning you be destroying your soul’s brothel with songs rise. (“Tha Anatello” [I’ll Be Rising], Kefali Gemato Chrysafi [A Head Full of Gold], 1996)

Although the group broke up at the height of its success, what do you think of your songs’ enduring power to move your audiences today? In 2001 we gave our last concert at Kalamaria district in Thessaloniki. We played “Taxidiara Psychi” [Wandering Soul] for our last encore on stage and the organizers threw fireworks, because we were closing their festival. I was the only one who knew that Trypes won’t be on stage again. I stopped singing and I looked smiling at the colorful explosions in the sky. Our relationships inside the group were decaying, although, to the contrary, in our music, recordings, and in our live performances there was no sign of decay at all. How and why all these things happened, how is it possible that our songs are heard until today by younger generations so warmly and timely? I can’t explain. The only thing I can say is that we’ve been honest, upright, and conscious, we’ve been present and committed to what we’ve been doing from our first until the last song. I believe that it is magic that “Taxidiara Psychi” [Wandering Soul], a song from 1985, which took eight whole years to reach a wider audience, has now millions of viewers on YouTube.22 I can’t deny that I’m happy about it. Notes 1 2 3 4

5 6 7 8 9

10 11

I have addressed several of these issues in articles based on my ethnographic research with Yiannis Angelakas. All lyrics are translated by the author. Vasilis Tsitsanis was a composer of rebetiko song and a major figure of Greek popular music. Stelios Kazantzidis was an immensely popular laiko song singer (see Chapter 1 by Leonidas Economou, this volume); Grigoris Bithikotsis, Poly Panou, and Yiota Lydia were all urban popular song singers. Panos Gavalas was a laiko song composer and singer. April 21, 1967 was the date of the Greek military Junta’s coup d’ état. Amanes (sing.), -edes (pl.) is an improvisational vocal form based on the makam system that became widespread during the Ottoman era and is performed either solo or with instrumental accompaniment. The call to arms was ordered following the Turkish invasion of Cyprus in 1974. Metapolitefisi refers to the era following the fall of the dictatorship and the re-establishment of democratic government in 1974. “Polytechnio” refers to the massive protests and the students’ revolt on November 17, 1973 that took place around the area of the Athens Polytechnic School, ending with the violent intervention of the regime’s military forces. The Polytechnio revolt led to the fall of the Junta’s rule. Konstantinos Karamanlis was the first prime minister following the fall of the Junta and founder of the rightwing political party (“Nea Dimokratia”) in Greece. “Ti Romiosini Mi Tin Klais” is a politiko tragoudi composed by Mikis Theodorakis with lyrics by Yiannis Ritsos. It was originally recorded illegally during the Junta years and was included in the album Ta 18 Lianotragouda tis Pikris Patridas (The 18 Lean-Songs of the Bitter Homeland) issued in 1974.

248 • Dafni Tragaki 12

13 14 15 16 17

18 19 20 21 22

Yiannis Petridis is one of the major and most popular radio producers in Greece who for several decades has been broadcasting “foreign” popular music genres (Rock, pop, etc.) on Greek State Radio. He is considered to be one of the most legitimate music critics in the country. Petridis was also head of the Greek branch of Virgin Records for 22 years. Political song (politiko tragoudi), the Greek urban popular protest song genre associated with the Left aimed at awakening the agonistic ethos of the people. Markos Vamvakaris, Anestis Delias, Giorgos Batis, and Apostolos Hatzichristos were all rebetiko musicians. Penia is a term commonly used in rebetiko song slang to refer to the stroke of a stringed instrument, and is also metonymically used to describe the practice of playing the bouzouki or baglamas, both stringed instruments featuring rebetiko song ensembles. Pseftomangas means fake, filthy mangas. The term florozeibekika (wussy-zeibeiko dances) refers to zeibekiko danced by timid and refined upper-class men. They are both slang words of pejorative meaning. Angelakas refers to the so-called vareladika (‘barrel dens’), a form of Greek music nightclub featuring barrels that were once used for storing wine and became popular during the early 1990s. “Tsifteteli-pop” refers to a hybrid popular song style bringing together mainstream pop aesthetics with the tsifteteli rhythmic pattern and dance style commonly associated with the “oriental” Greek musical heritage. Angelakas cites the lyrics of one of the most popular rebetiko song by Markos Vamvakaris, “Ta Matoklada Sou Lampoun” (Your Eyelashes Are Shining: “your eyelashes are shining/like the flowers in the plain”). Blixa Bargeld, the singer of the German group Einstürzende Neubauten. The song is introduced with a sample of “Let the Good Times Roll” by Shirley & Lee recorded in 1956. Based on the poem “Still I’ll Rise” by Maya Angelou. See www.youtube.com/watch?v=bLpCSc6q8s8 (accessed October 17, 2016).

Bibliography Angelakas, Yiannis. [1999] 2016. Pos Tolmas kai Nostalgeis, Tsoglane? Thessaloniki: alltogethernow/Feelgood Records.

Discography Trypes. Party ston 13o Orofo, Virgin VG 50264, 1987, LP album. Trypes. Trypes, Ano Kato Records ANO KATO 002, 1985, LP album. Trypes. Ennia Pliromena Tragoudia, Virgin VG 50596, 1993, LP album. Trypes. Krata to Soou, Maimou, Virgin 7243 839873 2 0, 1994, LP album, CD. Trypes. Kefali Gemato Chrysafi, Virgin 7243 8 41754 2 9, 1996, CD. Trypes. Mesa sti Nychta ton Allon, Virgin 7243 8 47966 2 4, 19, 1999, CD. Yiannis Angelakas and Nikos Veliotis. Oi Anases ton Lykon, EMI/alltogethernow 07243 4775211, 2005, CD. Yiannis Angelakas kai oi Episkeptes. Apo ‘Do kai Pano, alltogethernow 0 946346095 2 4, 2005, CD. Yiannis Angelakas kai oi 1000 C. Isycha Tragoudia gia Anemela Livadia, alltogethernow/Feelgood Records 521003300191, ATNCD010, 2016, CD and book.

Contributors

Kevin Dawe is Professor of Music at the University of Kent, UK. He conducted research in Greece during the 1990s. His books include Music and Musicians in Crete (Scarecrow, 2007), The New Guitarscape (2010), and the recent co-edited collection Current Directions in Ecomusicology (Routledge, 2015). Leonidas Economou (1960) received his PhD in Social Anthropology from the University of London in 1993. He is associate professor at the Department of Social Anthropology in Panteion University, Athens, Greece. His publications include numerous articles on Athenian urban history and Greek popular music, and the books The Social Production of Urban Space in Postwar Athens. The Case of Voula (Athens, 2008) and Stelios Kazantzidis Trauma and Symbolic Healing in Laiko Song (Athens, 2015). Stathis Gourgouris is an essayist, poet, sound artist and Professor of Comparative Literature and Society at Columbia University. He is the author of Dream Nation (1996), Does Literature Think? (2003), Lessons in Secular Criticism (2013), and Contingent Disorders (2016, in Greek). His new work, The Perils of the One, is forthcoming from Columbia University Press. His music, under the name Count G, is released by Sublamental Records and can be found at: http://countg. bandcamp.com/ or http://sublamental.com/artists/count-g. Gail Holst-Warhaft is and a poet, translator, musician and literary scholar. Her books include The Fall of Athens (poems and prose memoir); Penelope’s Confession (poems); The Collected Poems of Nikos Kavadias(translations); I Had Three Lives: Selected Poems of MikisTheodorakis (translations); The Cue for Passion: Grief and its Political Uses; Dangerous Voices: Women’s Laments and Greek Literature; Theodorakis: Myth and Politics in Modern Greek Music, and Road to Rembetika. She has published her poems and translations from ancient and modern Greek, French and Anglo Saxon in many journals and anthologies. She was poet laureate of Tompkins County in 2011 and 2012. Panagiotis A. Kanellopoulos (MA, PhD, Reading University) is a mandolinist, improviser and music education researcher, and currently Associate Professor of Music Education at Thessaly University. He studied mandolin with Alison Stephens and Vivi Geka, and is a dedicated performer of Manos Hadjidakis’ music. His research engages with creative music and music education practices from socio-cultural, critical and philosophical perspectives.

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250 • Contributors

Panayotis Panopoulos was born in Athens in 1967. He works as an Assistant Professor of Anthropology of Music and Dance in the Department of Social Anthropology and History, University of the Aegean, Greece. His research interests concern the anthropology of sound and performance. He is currently working on a research project concerning the culture of the Deaf community in Greece and on collaborations with visual artists. He has been a Research Visiting Scholar at Princeton University and the University of California, Berkeley. Ioannis Papadatos is a PhD candidate in ethnomusicology at the University of Kent. His field of research is Cretan music, focusing on participatory musical performances in the island of Crete. He has a Bachelor of Music degree and a Master of Arts from City University London and has conducted field research on Cretan music from 2011 to 2016. He is a contributor to Grove Music Online and the EPMOW, and has contributed a chapter to M. Hagleitner and A. Holzapfel’s book Musik auf Kreta (2017, Institute für Musikwissenschaft, Universität Wien). Anna Papaeti (PhD, King’s College London) writes about the intersections of music, politics, power and trauma. She received post-doctoral fellowships from the Onassis Foundation, Research Centre for the Humanities, DAAD, as well as a Marie Curie Intra-European Fellowship that examined the instrumentalization of music for manipulation and terror by the Colonels’ dictatorship in Greece. She co-edited two volumes on music and torture, and has published widely in journals and edited volumes. She is a Marie Curie Fellow at Panteion University. Ioannis Polychronakis specializes in Greek popular music. His thesis, Song Odyssey: Negotiating Identities in Greek Popular Music (Oxford University, 2013), is a historically informed ethnography of contemporary popular song in Greece, paying specific attention to issues of nationalism, gender and cultural politics. He is currently based in Shanghai working for Espressif Systems and conducting research on how the Internet of Things affects electronic music-making in contemporary China. Marilou Polymeropoulou is a research associate at the School of Anthropology and Museum Ethnography, University of Oxford. Following her ethnographic study of the chipscene as a doctoral candidate (State Scholarships Foundation in Greece scholar) at the Music Faculty, University of Oxford, she is currently engaged in post-doctoral research on chipmusic and in collaborative research as a design ethnographer at the e-Research Centre in Oxford. She also teaches modules on anthropology, sociology and epistemology. Danae Stefanou’s research centers on the historiography and aesthetics of experimental, noise, DIY and underground sonic practices. She has contributed articles and chapters to peer-reviewed journals (Musicae Scientiae, JIMS, JRMA) and edited volumes, including the Cambridge Companion to Film Music (Cambridge University Press, 2016) and Perspectives on Greek Musical Modernism (Routledge, forthcoming). Active as a solo performer and in collaboration with sound and media artists since the 1990s, she is currently an Assistant Professor in Historical Musicology at the School of Music Studies, Aristotle University of Thessaloniki. Lambrini Styliou holds a PhD in Social Anthropology from the University of Thessaly. Her thesis is an ethnography of the rap collective Da New Chain and studies the construction, articulation and negotiation of identities and subjectivities of the Albanian second generation in Greece. As an anthropologist she has participated in research projects with a focus on

Contributors • 251

migration, and she has conducted ethnographic research in Greece and Albania. Her research interests and work concern the study of migration with a focus on issues of transnationalism, politics of identity, music expression, subjectivity and imagination, and of post-socialist Albania. Polina Tambakaki is a research fellow in the Department of Classics and the Centre for Hellenic Studies, King’s College London. She specializes in the relationship of poetry to music, representations of music and soundscapes in fiction, and modernism and the classical tradition. She is the author of The “Musical Poetics” of George Seferis: A Case Study in the Relationship of Modernist Poetry to Music (in Greek, Domos, 2011). Aspasia (Sissie) Theodosiou is a social anthropologist working at the Technological Educational Institute of Epirus (Greece). She is currently a research associate of Manchester and Helsinki University, and the Hellenic Open University. She conducted extensive field research with Gypsy musicians on the Greek–Albanian border. In her more recent ethnographic research she has been concerned with politics and practices of the Greek popular music in Israel, the current economic crisis and its effects on disadvantaged people in Greece. Dafni Tragaki is an ethnomusicologist and assistant professor at the Department of History, Archaeology and Social Anthropology (University of Thessaly, Greece). She is the author of Rebetiko Worlds. Ethnomusicology and Ethnography in the City (Cambridge Scholars Publishing, 2007), and the editor of Empire of Song. Europe and Nation in the Eurovision Song Contest (Scarecrow Press, 2013). Since 2014 she has been engaged with the study of the life and work of the popular singer-poet-musician Yiannis Angelakas. Ioannis Tsioulakis is a lecturer in Anthropology and Ethnomusicology at Queen’s University Belfast. He completed his PhD at Queen’s University Belfast in 2011 and has since lectured at University College Cork and University College Dublin. His research focuses on Greek popular music, cosmopolitanism, professional creative industries, and the impact of economic crisis on artists. Ioannis is also a professional pianist, composer and arranger who has performed and recorded extensively within the Greek popular music scene. Dimitrios Varelopoulos is an ethnomusicologist and musician/producer. He studied musicology and communication at the University of Athens as well as music theory at the state conservatory in Moschato, Athens. Currently he is a PhD candidate at Universität Wien under the supervision of Professor Dr. Julio Mendívil. His research is mainly focused on popular music in Greece and its sound production, seen from an anthropological as well as a technological perspective.

Index

Relevant illustrations and tables are indicated by italic type. The abbreviation n, or nn, indicates a note, or notes. If both an album and its title song are discussed, only the album title is listed. Song, album, film and book titles are filed under their first word, including indefinite or definite articles, e.g. O Mikros Naphtilos is filed under “O”; group names are filed under their main name, e.g. Beatles, The. Ach! Psychi mou Fantasmeni (Peridis) 88 acte vide 126 Adamo, Salvatore 145 Adorno, Theodor 112n7 Aeschylus Oresteia (Mouzenidis) 68 aesthetic dissensus 54, 65, 79–80 aesthetic distance 70, 79 aesthetics, musical 2, 3, 26, 53, 54, 65, 70, 72, 75–76, 79–80, 86–87, 88, 91–92, 117, 119, 131, 142, 163, 168, 179, 193, 205, 211, 212, 213, 215 affect/affective 2, 6, 11, 154–155, 156, 159, 161, 163, 164, 180, 208, 212, 213, 215, 230; melancholic 6, 162, 215; pain 15, 162; passion 137, 154, 155; political economy of 137, 155, 162, 163, 164; surplus of 163, 164 Agapi Einai Esy (Vissi) 35 Agia Nostalgia (Papakonstantinou) 89 Ahmed, Sarah 155 Akhil, Gupta 49 Aksu, Sezen 35 Albanian rap music, in Athens 137–138, 167–168; local specificities 168–170; mobility, migrancy, and emergent forms of subjectivity 170–171; në lëvizje 170–171; Shqipëri O Nëna Ime 171–174 Alexakis, Vassilis 56 Alexiou, Haris 30, 222, 225 Allende, Salvador 58 alternative 191–192, 197; modernities 5; music 46, 87, 89, 92, 118, 131, 132, 181, 183 amalgamation 83–94 amateur music-making 128, 133, 134

Amiga Mega Demos 115 Anarchists’ Initiative 77, 78 Anderson, Laurie 100 Andromeda Software Development (ASD) 115–116 Andy V. 167 Anemodeiktis (Ioannidis) 90 Angelakas, Yiannis 183, 205, 229–230, 231, 238, 242; alltogheternow (label) 239; on breakup of Trypes 247; childhood, music 230–231; Episkeptes 237–239; on hardships of poverty during Junta 231–232; on musical past 241–242; on Neapoli 230; neighborhood, loss of 232–233; on neohellenic society 236–237, 239; opposition against mainstream 239–241; on political songs 233–234; popularity of 245–246; sense of loss 242–243; on the 1980s 235–236; on songs of Trypes 243–245 Angelopoulos, Manolis 24, 137, 153, 159, 161–163 Anna Vissi (Vissi) 31 Anoichta Chartia (Elytis) 60 Antigone (Theodorakis) 55, 61 Antoniou, Theodor 66, 71, 72, 74–75 Antonis (Theodorakis) 9–11 Apagorevmeno (Vissi) 35 Apo ‘Do kai Pano (Angelakas) 235–236, 238–239 Apostolidis, Renos 70, 77 Appiah, Kwame 206 archontorebetiko (pl. archontorebetika) 15, 21–23 argo zeibekiko 88 Arletta 103 Arnisi (Seferis) 53, 58–59, 61–63, 64 Aroganti 167, 171, 173

253

254 • Index art music 59, 83, 85, 90, 154; code of conduct 74; and Hadjidakis 73, 79 art-popular song see entechno-laiko (art-popular song) art song see entechno (art song) art worlds 113 artistic autonomy 77 artistic freedom 76–77 artistic ownership 63 Arvanitaki, Eleftheria 198, 226 As Kanoume Apopse Mian Archi (Georgiadis) 31 Asimakopoulos, Evangelos 212 Aslanidou, Melina 225 Aspromavres Istories (Malamas) 54, 87–88, 209 Athens see Albanian rap music, in Athens; experimental music; live music nightclubs, spectatorship in Athens Olympic games 156 Auslander, Peter 49 authenticity 3, 6, 8, 20, 33, 69, 76, 78, 92, 114, 117, 140, 162, 163, 179, 191, 193, 195, 197, 198, 200, 202, 238 Axion Esti (Elytis) 56, 58, 60–61 Aznavour, Charles 145 Babali, Andriana 200–201 Babel Trio 188 bad music 15, 162, 188 Badiou, Alain 134 Bageti e Bujqesia (Frashëri) 172 Baily, John 10 Bakalis, Bambis 23, 26n6 Baker, Josephine 145 Bakopoulou, Dora 103 Balamos (Tsaknis) 157 Balkanism (Balkan) 4, 6, 8, 9, 89, 154, 155, 158, 179, 193, 194, 198, 200, 202 ballads 159, 160, 200–201, 215 Bano, Al 145 Bates, Alan 55, 219 Baud-Bovy, Samuel 154–155 Baudelaire, Charles 76 B.A.V. Records 167; Tiranë 168; Vlorë 167 Beach Boys, The 222 Beatles, The 11, 55 Becker, Howard 113 Becker, Rashad 130 Behan, Brendan 58 Benas, Takis 139–140 Bennett, Andy 133 Binis, Takis 23 Bithikotsis, Grigoris 26, 57, 143, 213

black laiko 23 Blazanovic, Marta 132 bleep pop 119 Blero 167, 170, 171, 174 Born, Georgina 113, 210 Bourdieu, Pierre 132 bouzouki 2, 3, 15, 17, 20, 21, 22, 23, 25, 50n2, 118; Chiotis 22–23; four-course 23; and Greek music 223, 224–225, 226; I Ekdikisi tis Gyftias 86; and Junta of the Colonels 142–145; and Poliker 222; during post-Junta period 101–102; prohibition of 20; and Theodorakis 57, 61, 219 bouzoukia (nightclubs) 16, 41, 48, 49, 118; spectatorship 43–45 Bowden, Brett 35 branding 3, 7, 8, 53, 128, 137, 157, 158, 164, 191 Bronso, Fred 37n15 Bubblyfish 113 Buchanan, Donna 9, 202 Byzantine culture 4, 56, 60, 153, 227n10 Byzantine music 20, 26n7, 29, 56, 60, 109, 142, 153, 225 Cacoyannis, Michael 55, 57, 219 Cage, John 125, 130 Call Me (Vissi) 34 Canto General (Neruda) 58 capitalism 2, 3, 5, 16, 33, 41, 49, 50, 97, 98, 110, 132, 134, 180, 215, 216, 229 Capossela, Vinicio 221–223 Carcassi, Matteo 2 Carlsson, Anders 116, 117 Carneiro da Cunha, Manuela 196–197 cartridges, chiptune-making 114 Castells, Manuel 113 Central Intelligence Agency (CIA), United States 145 Chainsat 167, 168, 170, 172 chalga 200 chasapiko 22 Chatzichristos, Apostolos 23 Chatzis, Kostas 137, 153, 159–161 chipmusic 97–98, 113–115; audience 121; chipscene discourse 116–117; chipscene network 120–122, 121; and demos 115–116; by Greeks 117–120; practices 116–117; technological ideology 117 chipmusic.org 119 chiptunes see chipmusic Chordettes, The 3 Choroý kaý Foresies tou Topou mas (Matsas) 140 Christou, Jani 103, 112n11, 131

Index • 255 Chrysinis, Stelios 23 civil war, Greek 5, 6, 17–18, 20, 21, 23, 24, 56, 57, 60 Clapton, Eric 11 Clark, Petula 3 collective copyright 193, 194–195, 196–197 collective effervescence 114 Colonels see Junta of the Colonels commercial television networks 33 Communist Party, Greek 57, 59 communitas 98, 133 community: and experimental music 133–134; spirit, and chipmusic 114 consumer culture 109–110 Contemporary Music Research Centre (KSYME) 130 continuity thesis 36n1 copyright 193, 194–195, 196–197; property rights 194–195, 196 cosmopolitanism 5, 6–8, 16, 33, 35; indigenous 180, 205, 207; Malamas 205–208, 209–210; and nightclubs 47; situated 180, 205 Coti K 111n3, 129 counter-stories/counter-history 137–177 creative incubators 128 Cretan music 179, 181–184; engagement of outsiders 187–188; inclinations/subgenres/streams 186–187; notions of folk and popular music 184–185; reworking Cretaness 186–189; traditional repertory of 188; traditions and transformations 185–186 Crosby, Bing 3 Crossley, Nick 113 cultural anarchism 78 cultural centers 128 cultural continuity 139, 140, 143 cultural difference 8, 211 cultural hegemony 5, 6 cultural opportunism 143 cultural politics 16, 41, 79, 98, 137, 149, 154, 179, 192; and Chatzis 160; and entechno-laiko 58, 63; and world music 193 culture: consumer 109–110; digital 114, 122; and experimental music 132–133; Gypsy 156; mass culture theory 6, 15; media 99–100; national 6; prosumer 114 Cvetkovich, Ann 155 Cyclades 193 Da New Chain 137, 167, 168, 171, 172, 173 Daemonia Nymphe 183 Dagaki, Geogria 189

Daimones (Vissi) 38n24 Dalaras, Yiorgos 30, 157, 225, 233 Dale, Dick 222 Daly, Ross 7, 181, 183, 185, 187 dances/dancing 37n15; chasapiko 22; Dogtooth 1–2; folk 89, 140, 141, 191–203; ikariotikos 179, 191, 192, 193, 197–201; at nightclubs 42, 45, 46, 47, 48; tango 155; tsifteteli 33, 45, 88, 162, 163, 222; zeibekiko 23, 26n5, 45, 57, 88, 210, 212, 220, 224; Zorbas’ Dance 3, 219–220 Dassin, Jules 57, 58 Daulute 188 Davis, Miles 122 Deadhead (Plizzi) 120 DeBarge 120 Defi 162 democracy 5, 8, 15, 18, 31, 32, 76, 116–117, 163, 175n18, 180, 233, 247n8 demos, and chipmusic 114, 115–116 Derveniotis, Theodoros 23 dhimotiko traghoudi 137, 142, 149n1 Diamanti, Litsa 26 diaspora: Cretan 182–183; Greek, and conservative musical tastes 225 dictatorship see Junta of the Colonels digital culture 114, 122 Dilitirio sti Fleva (Tsitsanis) 210 Dionysiou, Stratos 213 disemia 41, 223–224 dissensus 54, 65, 78–80; aesthetic 54, 79–80 diva/celebrity 15, 16, 33, 34, 35, 48, 153, 157, 161 diversity of Greek music 29 DIY (do-it-yourself) 125, 130 DIY Labels in Greece (Facebook group) 134n2 DJ Pantelis 200 DJ Teddy Georgo 200 Dodeka (Vissi) 32 Dogtooth (Lanthimos) 1–2 Donizetti, Giuseppe 5, 11n5 Doxastikon 61 Doza 167, 174 dromos (pl. dromoi) 21, 23, 26n3 Durkheim, Emile 114 Earini Symphonia (Ritsos) 56, 59 Eastern Mediterranean music 6, 9, 33, 181, 194, 198, 205 Easternness 16, 20, 23, 25, 26n7, 33, 36, 57, 88, 161, 162, 163, 199, 215; see also Oriental East–West mythology 6–8

256 • Index EAT/ESA see Special Interrogation Unit of Greek Military Police (EAT/ESA) economy, Greek 18 8-bit music see chipmusic 8 Peaches of Love (Obasilakis) 120 8bitcollective.org (8bc) 116–117, 119 elafry-laiko (light-popular song) 15, 16, 32 elaphry (-o) 19, 20, 21–22, 23, 26, 137, 139, 142, 149n1; and Junta of the Colonels 143 electroacoustic music 103, 126, 130 electronic music 99–111; see also chipmusic Eliot, T.S. 58 Ellines Tsigani 157, 158 Elliniko Chorodrama (Hellenic Dance Theatre) 66, 66 Elytis, Odysseus 32, 36n8, 53, 208; awards 60; Axion Esti 56, 58, 60–61; on Hadjidakis 67 emplacement 9, 179, 197 emulators 114 En Chordais 225–226 En Leuko (Elytis) 60 En Plo 239 Ennia Pliromena Tragoudia (Trypes) 232, 240–241, 245 Enomeni Dimokratiki Aristera (EDA) 57–58 ensemble see lyra-laouto ensembles entechno (art song) 53, 54, 83–86, 111n2, 205; and Cretan music 183, 187–188; Ioannidis 89–90; issue of tradition 88–89; Malamas 87–88; Papakonstantinou 89; Peridis 88–89; Rasoulis 86–87; Xydakis 86–87 entechno-laiko (art-popular song) 15, 25, 31, 36n5, 53, 54; Elytis 60–61; and entechno 83, 84, 85, 91; formation of 26n8; Hadjidakis on 70; Malamas 180, 205, 207, 209, 210, 215, 216; Ritsos 59; Seferis 61–63; Theodorakis 55, 56–59 entechno-rock 54, 87–88, 92 Eonta (Xenakis) 72 Epiphania (Seferis) 58, 61, 62 Episkeptes 237–239 epistemology 4 Epitaphios (Hadjidakis) 143 Epitaphios (Theodorakis) 55, 56–57, 59, 61, 83–84, 143 Erez, Oded 5 Erota i Polemo (Vissi) 37n14 eroticism 108, 109 Erotokritos 181 Error Code (event) 113, 117–118 Esposito, Roberto 133

Essetai Imar (Terror X Crew) 29 ethnography 9, 16, 41, 43, 86, 90, 91, 92, 93n26, 97, 113, 120, 134n4, 153, 156, 164n1, 179, 180, 192, 193, 205, 210, 229 ethnomusicology 4, 188 Europe: music 5; reformation 6; Romani activism in 156 European Court of Human Rights 139, 143 European Union 32–33 Europeanness 3, 6; pro-Europeanism 6 Eurovision Song Contest 29, 33, 34, 35 Eurythmics 118 evropaiko (European song) 19, 22 experimental music 7, 22, 32, 35, 53, 54, 70, 74, 77, 79, 83–84, 87, 97, 98, 101, 107, 108, 119, 125, 183, 188; aesthetics, tradition, and legitimization 129–131; multi-space venues 127; rethinking scenes, communities, and business-as-usual 131–134; self-labeling 131; and space 126–129 fakebit 117, 118 Fampas, Dimitris 73 Fannatics (fan club) 37n17 Farandouri, Maria 9, 225 Feld, Steven 85, 193 Ferguson, James 49 film 19, 100, 224; Dogtooth 1–2; Hindi/Indian 11, 24, 161; In the Cool of the Day 79; Never on Sunday 2–3, 7, 57, 219; Phaedra 58; Pulp Fiction 222; Rom 156, 157; Stella 57; Whose is this Song? 202; work of Hadjidakis in 57; work of Platonos in 101–103; work of Theodorakis in 55, 58; Z 10, 64n2; Zorba the Greek 2–3, 7, 55, 183, 219 first programme (proto programma) 44, 45 flower tossing, at nightclubs 42–43, 42, 46 Fly Me to the Moon 1, 2 folk clarinet 154 folk dance 89, 140, 141, 191–203 folk music 20, 32, 41, 46, 83, 120, 122, 149, 187; Cretan 184–185; dhimotiko traghoudi (folk song) 139, 142, 149n1; and Greek diaspora 225; and Gypsies 154, 157; and Junta of the Colonels 139–142 foreign music genres, and Junta of the Colonels 142 4,000 Years of Greek Song 29 Fouron, Georges Eugene 172 Francis, Connie 3 Frashëri, Naim 172 Friedl, Reinhold 130

Index • 257 Frith, Simon 37n13, 85, 117, 118, 161, 162 fusion 7, 24, 194, 198–199; see also amalgamation Galani, Dimitra 198 Gallop (Platonos) 105–107 Gangnam Style (Psy) 37n21 gasinos 50n17 Gatsos, Nikos 67, 208 Gavalas, Panos 15, 25 Gavras, Costas 10, 64n2 generation of the 1930s 67, 74, 76 genre 2, 3, 4, 5–6, 7, 9, 15, 16, 17, 19–26, 26n8, 31, 32, 33, 36n5, 36n10, 41–42, 45, 50n2, 53, 54, 55, 56–59, 60–63, 67, 70, 74, 83–94, 93n26, 97–98, 101–102, 111n2, 113–122, 125, 132, 137–138, 139–140, 142–145, 149, 149n1, 154, 155, 158, 159, 167–176, 179, 180, 181, 183, 184–185, 186, 187–189, 192–193, 194, 198, 200, 205, 206, 207, 209, 210, 212, 213–214, 215, 216, 219, 220–223, 224–225, 226, 235, 241 genre worlds 180, 205 gentrification 8, 15, 183, 187 genuine popular sensibility 76–77 geographies of Greek popular songs 9–11 Georgalas, Giorgos 149 Georgiadis, Doros 31 Gia Ideste ton Amaranto 140 Gia Sena (Vissi) 30 Gia tin Ellada (Malamas) 208 Gia ton Seferi (Savidis) 62 Gilespie, Dizzy 7 glenti 188, 189 globalization 3, 4, 11; and chipscene 113; and collective property claims 197; and entechno 85, 86, 91; and Gypsy musicians 158; impact on Greek culture 29; integration of European Union 33; and Malamas 216; and palyrria 199; and pista music 33, 45; and rap music 169; and world music 9, 193; see also transnationalism Glykeria 157, 222, 225 Goehr, Lydia 4 Goin’ Through 37n14 Graham, Martha 66 grand theory 4 see also master narrative/grand narrative Greek Cooking (Woods) 7 Greek crisis 35, 97, 99, 103, 106, 125 Greek ethnomusicology 153 Greek music: commonplaces 1–4, 6; disciplinarization of popular 4–11; diversity of 29; epistemologies of 4, 9; in Israel 222–223; in

Italy 221–222; Mediterranean cliché of 2–3; research 15, 17, 114; stereotypes of 29, 226; see also bouzouki; rebetiko Greekness 9, 36, 36n9, 92, 97; in chipmusic 120; and cosmopolitanism 6–7, 8; and Hadjidakis 76; and Malamas 205, 208; of rebetiko 67; and Theodorakis 63; and Zorba the Greek 2–3 Grey, Keti 24 grieving laiko 23–26, 26nn6&7 Grivas, Anastasis 126 Gypsies 24, 26n7, 137, 153–154, 163–164, 226; affective legacies 155, 159, 163; Angelopoulos, Manolis 161–163; branding of Gypsy music 157, 158; Chatzis, Kostas 159–161; contribution in music of rural mainland Greece/Balkans 155; iconic figures 154–155; multiculturalism 155–159; Roma 153–154, 155–159 Gypsy brand 157, 158, 164; see also branding Gypsy music 154–155, 158 Hadgis, Alan 198 Hadjidakis, Manos 7, 11, 20, 26n8, 32, 68, 71; Anarchists’ Initiative protest 77, 78; artistic independence 76–78; audience code of conduct 74; collaborative approach 74–75, 79; creation of impossible place 70–73, 79; Cretan music 183; dissensus 78–80; and Elytis 60; emergence of modernist antinomies 68–70; Epitaphios 61, 143; institutional involvement 76–78, 80n7; lecture on rebetiko 57, 67–68; Megalos Erotikos 54, 68–70, 69, 74, 75–76, 80n3; modernism 53–54, 66–73, 76, 78–79; musical work 73–75, 73, 74, 75, 79; Never on Sunday 3; piano transcription of excerpt from Marsyas 66; and Platonos 101, 103, 108; and politics/resistance 75–76; and rebetiko 83, 94n29, 223; seeds of modernist antinomies 66–68; The Children of Piraeus 219; To ‘62 tou Manou Hadjidaki 103; on tradition 77 Half Lesbian (netlabel) 120 Halkias, Petroloukas 7 Hall, Stewart 159 Harbilas, Christos 239 Haroulis, Giannis 189 hasapiko 22 heavy laiko 23–26 Hebdige, Dick 132 Herzfeld, Michael 4, 6–7, 41, 140, 223–224, 226–227n10 Hess, Franklin 154, 155 Hindi movies 161

258 • Index Hiotis, Manolis 15, 22–23, 57, 61 hip-hop see Albanian rap music, in Athens historical consciousness 11 historical experimentalism 130 historiography 137, 153–164; see also counterstories/counter-history Holocaust 9, 10 homeland: and Malamas 208; and rap music 171–174 homeless music 225–226 Honeymoon (Cohen) 55 Honeymoon Song (Powell) 55 Hoxha, Enver 173 human rights violations 143 Huyssen, Andreas 69 hybridity 7, 32, 85, 201; see also fusion hybridization 54, 83–94 Hyussen, Andreas 179, 205 I Anakrisi (Maglinis) 146 I Ekdikisi tis Gyftias (Xydakis & Rasoulis) 54, 86–87, 88, 92 I Ellada pote den Pethainei 140 I Lathos Agapi (Platonos) 104 I Like It (De Barge) 120 identification, of Gypsies 153, 159 identity: cosmopolitan 6, 8, 16, 33; Greek 4, 5, 32, 33, 36n1, 68, 69; island 181, 192, 194, 197; musical 4–6, 8; national 20, 29, 33, 141, 149, 172, 198, 224; Roma 155–159; and world music 85 Ignatidou, Sophia 129 Ikaria 179, 191–192, 197 ikariotikos 179, 191, 192, 193, 197–198; Babali 200–201; DJ Pantelis 200; Locomondo 199–200; palyrria version 198–199 Ilios 129 improvisation 126, 128, 130, 131, 132, 133, 134 Imvrios, Petros 225 In Memoriam of the Liberation (Theodorakis) 10 In the Cool of the Day (Stevens) 79 In Trance 95 111n3 Indian music 7, 11, 24, 26n7 Indian-style songs 11, 26n7; laiko 21, 24, 26n7 indigeneity 8, 180, 205, 207, 209–210 indigenous cosmopolitanism 180, 205, 207 indoprepi 11 Ingold, Tim 9 instrumentalists: Gypsy 154; position in nightclubs 43–44 International Song Olympiad 137, 142–145

intimacy (-ies), cultural/musical 8, 9, 15, 49, 50n17, 180, 214, 215 Ioannidis, Alkinoos 54, 89–90, 92 Ioannis Kapodistrias Masterplan 195–197 Ion 111n3 island song see nisiotiko tragoudi (island song) Isnart, Cyril 172 Israel, Greek music in 222–223 Isyha Tragoudia gia Anemela Livadia (Angelakas) 243 Italy, Greek music in 221–222 Jacko and Yehuda Poliker (Poliker) 222 Japan, chipmusic in 115 jazz 1, 7–8, 23, 90, 100, 101, 110, 129, 156, 225 jepi drejtim 171 Jetës Sonë (2Die4) 168 Jones, Quincy 7 Junta of the Colonels 18, 137, 139, 233–234; bouzouki 142–145; dictatorship 17, 18, 31, 57, 58, 62, 76, 139–149, 198, 219; folk music and national fantasies 139–142; hardships of poverty 231–232; International Song Olympiad 142–145; Malamas on 209; music and torture by Greek Military Police 145–149, 146, 147; Polytechnio 247n9; and skyladika 118; and Theodorakis 57, 58 Kaldaras, Apostolos 19, 26 Kali sou Mera an Ksypnas (Peridis) 88–89 Kallimopoulou, Eleni 187 Kalogiannis, Antonis 148 Kalomiris, Manolis 59, 140 Kalvos, Andreas 61, 64n4 Kamal, Babrak 10 Kampanellis, Iakovos 9 Kanari Mou (Papadakis) 188 Kapia Mana Anastenazi (Tsitsanis & Bakalis) 26n6 Karamanlis, Konstantinos 77, 233 Karderina (Yellowbird) 89 Kariotakis, Titos 239 kariotiko 197–198, 200; see also ikariotikos Karouzos, Nikos 103 Karras, Simon 140 Karvelas, Nikos 30, 31–32, 34, 35, 37n17, 38n24 Karyotakis, Kostas 103, 108, 112n10 Karyotakis – 13 Songs (Platonos) 103 Katsaros, Giorgos 26 Kazantzakis, Nikos 55, 62 Kazantzidis, Stelios 15, 23–26, 161, 213

Index • 259 Kefali Gemato Chrysafi (Trypes) 237, 245–246, 246 Keil, Charles 50n9 Kënga e mërgimtarit (Nika) 172–173 kengë kurbeti 175n12 Kind of Blue 122 Kinousis, Giorgos 148 Kipourgos, Nikos 156, 157 Kitt, Eartha 3 Kleftika (Politis) 141 Klima Tropiko (Vissi) 34 Klouvatos, Gerasimos 23 Knot Gallery 98, 125, 126, 129, 130; (K)NOTmusic 130–131 Kokkinou, Elli 225 Kokotas, Stamatis 225 KolDavarMazkir Li (Poliker) 222 Kolokotronis, Christos 23 Konitopoulos, Giorgos 192, 194, 195, 197–198, 200–201 Kontaros, Manolis 189 kosmikes tavernes 37n12 Kosovo, Albanians of 169, 173 Kotepanos, Theodoros 66, 73, 75, 79 Kotopouli, Marika 68 Kotsiras, Yiannis 225 Kotsonis, Yannis 126, 128 Kouka, Katerina 110 Koun, Karolos 66 Kouyioumtzis, Stavros 31 Krapp, Peter 114 Krautrock rhythms 102 Kravgi (Vissi) 29 Kriezi, Marianina 101, 102, 104 Krimpas, Vassilis 91 Krithari, Aliki 73 . . . Kypron, Ou M’ Ethespisen . . . [Imerologio Katastromatos III] (Seferis) 62 Ladanyi, Greg 35, 37n19 Ladas, Ioannis 141–142 laika tragoudia 70, 72, 75, 88 laiko (pl. laika) 5, 15, 17, 220; black 23, 26n6; elaphro-laiko 15, 16, 32, 137; emergence of 19–20; and entechno 85, 89, 91, 92; entechnolaiko 15, 25–26, 26n8, 31, 36n5, 53, 54, 55, 56–59, 60–63, 70, 83, 84, 85, 91, 180, 205, 207, 209, 210, 215, 216; grieving 21, 23–26, 26nn6&7; heavy (vari) 23, 25–26; Indian-style 21, 24, 26n7; and Junta of the Colonels 143; Malamas 205, 206, 212, 213–214; people’s songs (laika traghoudia) 70, 72, 75, 88; phases

of 45; post-civil war 23; term 50n2, 85; Tsitsanis style 20–21 laiko traghoudi (urban popular song) 137, 149n1 Lambrakis, Grigoris 10, 57, 64n2 Lambrakis Youth Organization 57 Lanthimos, Yorgos 4 Leandros, Vicky 145 Left 5, 6, 9, 10, 20, 21, 25, 31, 53, 56, 58, 59, 67, 86, 101, 118, 139, 141, 146, 183, 197, 206, 235, 247n13 legitimization, and experimental music 130, 131 Lena Platonos’ Mixer (Platonos) 111n3 Lenin Peace Prize 59, 64n3 Leonard, Patrick 35, 37n19 Leotsakos, Giorgos 59 Lepidoptera (Platonos) 107–108 lëvizje 137, 168 Lianis, Giorgos 162 Lidakis, Manolis 157 Lillipoupoli (Platonos) 101 Limnes ta Mathia sou (Alefantinoi) 185 Linda, Meri 23 line, flow and ruptures in 168 Lipsitz, George 170 literarization, of Gypsies 153 Little Sound DJ 116 live experimental music see experimental music live music nightclubs, spectatorship in 16, 41–43; binary discourses and neoliberal pista 49–50; bouzoukia 43–45; modern pista 45–47; stage policing 47–48, 48 Locomondo 199–200 Loudovikos ton Anogion 183 Lycabettus open theatre 162, 163 Lydia, Yiota 24 lyra 181 lyra-laouto ensembles 179, 181–182, 184 Madadi, Abdul Wahab 10 maestros 43 magazines, weekly 19 Maggira Sisters 46 Maglinis, Elias 146 Mahmud II, Sultan 5 Mala (Vissi) 38n24 Malamas, Sokratis 54, 87–88, 92, 180, 205, 214; cosmopolitanism 205–208, 209–210; early years of 206; Gia tin Ellada 208; Greekness 205, 208; on Junta of the Colonels 209; life in Germany 206–207; music, as paradoxical

260 • Index assemblage 180, 209, 211; nightlife hardships of 212–214; Pringipessa210–212; rebetiko 205, 206, 212, 213–214; return to Greece 207–208, 212; as songwriter/lyricist 215–216; To Gramma 215 Malevitsis, Nicolas 134n2 manges 19, 21, 26n2 Manolakis, Giorgos 183, 189 Manou, Rallou 66–67 Mantzaros, Nikolaos 58, 61, 63 marches 139–140 Marinella 159 Markopoulos, Yiannis 141, 146 Marshall, David 161 Marsyas 66 Martinelli, Dario 226 Maskes Iliou (Platonos) 103–105 mass culture theory 6, 15 mass media 97, 100, 107, 155, 163, 185 master narrative/grand narrative 4, 8, 69 Mauthausen Trilogy (Theodorakis) 9, 10 Maximos, Stelios 198 Mazower, Mark 5 MC Yinka 199, 203n9 media culture 99–100 Mediterranean 2–3, 6, 8, 9, 33, 88, 93n19, 179, 181, 183, 193, 194, 198, 200, 205, 208 Megalos Erotikos (Hadjidakis) 54, 68–70, 69, 74, 75–76, 80n3 mëndje në lëviz 175 Merkouri, Melina 57, 219 Merz, Leo 116 Mesa sti Nychta ton Allon (Trypes) 240, 245 meta-folk (genre) 179, 189 Metaxas dictatorship, Greece 56 Mi mou tous Kyklous Tarate (Platonos) 99, 109–111 Micromusic 116, 119; Micromaps 118–119 micromusic see chipmusic Middleton, Richard 184 migrant 18, 24, 106, 120–121, 137, 155, 167–172, 173–174, 193, 195, 201, 206, 220, 223; see also diaspora migration 167–169, 170; and homeland 171–174 Milhaud, Darius 55 Miliaresis, Gerasimos 73 Minerbi, Marcello 3, 219 Minos Records 31 Miss Piggy 3 Mitsakis, Giorgos 23 mobility, and rap music 170–171

modernism 65; and Hadjidakis 66–73, 76, 78–79; national modernism 67 modernity 5, 6, 16, 18, 29, 47, 69, 163, 187, 192 modernization 5, 15, 16, 18, 69; and pista music 33, 46–47; of rebetiko 22 Mohammad (trio) 129, 131 Montand, Ives 10 Moraitis, Nikos 201 Moralis, Yannis 67, 69, 70 Moremars 126 Moscholiou, Viky 26 Mountakis, Kostas 183 Mouskouri, Nana 11, 57, 61, 143 Mouzenidis, Takis 68 mujahideen 10 multi-space venues, experimental music 127, 127, 128 multicultural/multiculturalism 6, 8, 137, 155–159, 189, 206, 207, 216 music technology 90 music worlds 113 musical experimentation, as questioning 132 Nanoloop 116 national continuity 141, 142 national culture 6 national fantasies, and folk music 139–142 national identity 20, 29, 33, 141, 149, 172, 198, 224 national modernism 67 national music 4, 5 National School of Music 53, 59, 84 nationalism 4, 5, 6, 8, 9, 55, 101, 137, 139, 140, 143, 169, 172, 182, 184, 193, 200, 229 Navy Movement 148 Naxos: disputes over property rights on song in 194–195; Ioannis Kapodistrias Masterplan 195–197 Nazimi, Latif 10 Neff, Louis 145 Nehring, Neil 78 Neo Kyma 159, 160 neoelliniko tragoudi 83 neohellenic culture 6, 235, 236–237, 239 neoliberalism 8; and pista 49 Neraida (Fairy) 216 Neroponti (Ioannidis) 90 Neruda, Pablo 58 netlabels, chipmusic 113, 116, 119 network society 113 network theory 9 networked creativity 113–114

Index • 261 Never on Sunday (Dassin) 2–3, 7, 57, 219 New Wave movement (Neo Kyma) 159, 160 Niadoka 119 Nicholls, David 132 nightclubs 19; flower tossing at 42–43, 42, 46; and Malamas 212–214; pista 41–49; see also bouzoukia (nightclubs); live music nightclubs, spectatorship in Nika, Gëzim 172–173 Nikolaidou, Elli 74 Ninou, Marika 21 Nintendo Game Boy 114 nisiotiko tragoudi (island song) 180, 192–193, 194 Nobel Prize 58, 60, 62 normative cosmopolitanism 6, 8 nostalgia 2, 6, 107, 112n12, 119, 133, 138, 162, 171–172, 173, 175n12, 180, 193, 202, 208, 225, 241 nouveaux-riches 16, 34 nyhtomagaza 213 Nyman, Michael 125 O Dromos, o Chronos kai o Ponos (Ioannidis) 90 O John John Zei (Babali) 200–201 O Mikros Naphtilos (Elytis) 61 O pasatebos (Chiotis) 22 Ochtabita (Niadoka) 119 Oi Anases ton Lykon (Angelakas & Veliotis) 234 Oi Dikoi mas Tsinganoi (Pavlidis) 157 Oi Kampanes tou Edelweiss (Vissi) 38n24 Oikonomidis, Giorgos 142, 143, 144, 145 Oloi tha Zisoume (Ta Pedia) (Kinousis) 148 Omodaka 120 OPA (My Ikariotiko) 200 oratorio, popular (Theodorakis) 53, 56, 58, 60–61 Oriental 4–6, 21, 24, 25, 26n7, 41, 54, 87, 88, 92, 179, 193, 205, 215, 223, 247n17 orientalization 5, 24, 26n7 Oscar, prize 57 Oso ki an Dernei o Anemos (Angelakas & Veliotis) 183 Ottoman culture 4, 6, 33, 224, 227n10 Ottoman music 5, 6, 8, 9, 19, 26nn3&4, 142, 215, 223, 225, 247n6 Ottoman-Greek café music 5 ownership, of Greek music 224–225 Palamas, Kostis 59, 62 Palamidas, Yiannis 101, 102, 108 Paleina Seferia 188

palyrria 194, 198–199 Panagakos, Anastasia 37n15 Panagiotakis, Constantinos 144 Panou, Akis 213 Panou, Poli 24, 25 Papadakis, Alexandros 186–187, 188 Papadimitriou, Sakis 7 Papadopoulos, Georgios 141 Papagiannopoulou, Eftichia 23 Papaioannou, Yiannis 7, 19, 23 Papakonstantinou, Thanasis 54, 89, 92 Papandreou, Andreas 99, 224 Papanikolaou, Dimitris 67, 83, 143, 159–160 Paparrigopoulos, Konstantinos 63 Papazoglou, Nikos 86, 87, 88, 92, 214, 215 paradosi (Obasilakis & Larisaiko Ati) 120 paradosiaká 88, 91, 92, 187–188, 188n5, 198 parea 188, 189 Parios, Giannis 192, 194, 198, 225 Park, Hyunju 85 Party ston 13o Orofo (Trypes) 87, 232, 233–234, 243–244 Pashley, Robert 185 Paspala, Elli 101, 105 passion 155 pataria 212–213 Patras (Greece) 115 Patsifas, Alekos 93n15 Pavlidis, Kostas 156, 157, 158 Pavlopoulou, Argyro 187 Peacock, Annette 100 Peeva, Adela 202 Pennanen, Risto Pekka 4–5, 26n6 Peridis, Orfeas 54, 88–89, 92 Periplanomeno (Semsis) 201 Perpiniadis, Vangelis 24 Petrakis, Stelios 189 Petridis, Yiannis 233, 247n12 Phaedra (Dassin) 58 Piaf, Edith 11 Piotrowska, Anna 153 Piperakis, Charilaos 182 Piramatiki Orchistra Athinon (Athens Experimental Orchestra) 71, 72 pista music 15–16, 33–34, 37n12; cultural impact of 33; dancing 42, 45; flower tossing 42–43, 42, 46; and Greek crisis 35; modern 41, 43, 45–47, 48, 49; and neoliberalism 16, 49; nightclubs 41–49; success of 33; and Vissi 15–16, 34, 35, 36 Pistrick, Eckehard 172 P.K. 167

262 • Index Plakias, Orestis 131 Platon, Georgios 101 Platonos, Lena 97, 99; and Anderson 100; early years of 101; and eroticism 108, 109; Gallop 105–107; Lepidoptera 107–108; Lillipoupoli 101; love songs 107; Maskes Iliou 103–105; Mi mou tous Kyklous Tarate 109–111; and Peacock 100–101; Sabotage 101–103; To Spasimo ton Pagon 104, 108–109; use of voice as instrument 104 Plessas, Mimis 26 Plevris, Constantine 144 Plizzi, Mano 120 Ploutarchos, Yiannis 225 Plum Song (Omodaka) 120 Pnevmatiko Emvatirio (Theodorakis) 61 poets, Greek 55–64 poiesis 104, 107, 110 Poliker, Yehuda 222–223 politics 18, 108; of aesthetics 80; and Albanian rap music 169, 173–174; and chipmusic 121; and collective property claims 197; and copyright issues 195; cosmopolitics 8, 10, 180, 205; and Cretan music 181; cultural 16, 41, 58, 63, 79, 98, 137, 149, 154, 160, 179, 192, 193; of culture industries 216; Europeanization 16; and experimental music 134; and geopolitics 9, 29, 32–33, 49; and Greekness 9; and Gypsy musicians 156, 160, 164; and Hadjidakis 53–54, 75–76, 78, 79; International Song Olympiad 137, 142–145; of Junta 141, 143– 144; and Kazantzidis 24, 25; of knowledge 15; and laiko 24–25; popularization of 99; and Rasoulis 86; and Seferis 62; and Theodorakis 57–58, 63; and Tsitsanis 21; and Vissi 31, 32 Politiki Propaganda (Plevris) 144 politiko tragoudi (political song) 9, 201, 233–234, 247n13 Politis, Alexis 4, 141 polychoros 127 Polylas, Iakovos 63 pop ballads 200–201 popular music: geographies of Greek popular songs 9–11; Greek, disciplinarization of 4–11; Indian 7, 11, 24; institutional context of 18–19; Ottoman 5 populism 6, 99 Portokalli (TV show) 174 postwar period (1945–1967) 17–18 Pote tha Kanei Xasteria (Xylouris) 183 Potuoðlu-Cook, Öykü 50n18 Powell, Michael 55

present past/pastness 179, 205 Pringipessa (Malamas) 210–212, 216 Propaganda (Georgalas) 149 prosumer culture 114 protest: Anarchists’ Initiative 77, 78; and rap music 169 protomastores 182, 185–186, 187 Psarantonis see Xylouris, Antonis Psarogiorgis see Xylouris, Giorgis Psy 37n21 Pulp Fiction (Tarantino) 222 Punk Rock 5, 235 Pyrovasia 1208 (palyrria) 199 Quality Filter System (QFS), netlabel 116 questioning, musical experimentation as 132 Quinn, Anthony 3, 55, 219 racism 156, 160, 161, 164 radio 19, 139, 142, 146–147 Ramocki, Marcin 129 Rancière, Jacques 65, 79–80 rap see Albanian rap music, in Athens Rasoulis, Manolis 54, 86–87, 208, 215 rebetiko 5–6, 17, 19, 89, 92; Angelakas on 241; archontorebetiko 15, 21–23; Capossela 221– 223; debate 5–6; enduring popularity of 220; ennoblement of 20, 22; and Greekness 224; and Hadjidakis 67, 83; as mainstream Greek music 223; and Malamas 205, 206, 212, 213–214; Papanikolaou on 143; Poliker 222– 223; Sex, Drugs, and Rebetiko 220–221; and Theodorakis 57, 83; and Tsitsanis style 21; see also laiko Rebetiko Gymnastas (Capossela) 221–223 Recital (Chatzis) 159, 160 record companies 18–19 recording studio 84, 85 Rehearsed Dreams 111n3 relayed creativity 113 remix 33, 111n3, 119, 179, 180, 192, 198, 199, 200, 202 Remos, Antonis 225 reparative reading 156 revue theater 19 Rilindje (Renaissance) movement 172 Ritsos, Yiannis 32, 36n8, 53, 55, 56–57, 58, 59, 143 Rizitika (Markopoulos) 141 Rock: entechno-rock 54, 87–88, 92; operas 38n24; Punk Rock 5, 235; semi-Rock 93n26 Rodinos, Andreas 182 Rodousakis, Andreas 66, 73, 74, 74

Index • 263 Rom (Karamaghiolis) 156, 157 Roma 50n9, 137, 153–159, 160, 164n4; see also Gypsies Romani activism 156 Romiosyni (Ritsos) 58 Rose, Tricia 168, 170 Ross, Andrew 90 Rouvas, Sakis 45, 46–47, 225 Sabotage (Platonos) 99, 101–103 Sadikis, Dinos 239, 242 Saisanas, Aristotelis 222 Sakelarios, Alekos 21–22 Saladin, Matthieu 132 Saleas, Vassilis 157 Sally Zero 113, 119, 120 Salonica, the City of Ghosts (Mazower) 5 Savidis, George 58, 61–62 Savigliano, Marta 155 Savvopoulos, Dionysis 32, 86, 89, 93n15, 141, 215 scenes 5, 7, 8, 15, 16, 17, 19, 20, 22, 23, 24, 26, 53, 54, 85, 87–88, 90, 97–98, 100, 111n3, 113–122, 126, 131, 132, 133, 137, 169, 185, 194, 199, 206, 207, 209, 220, 235, 241 Schafer, Murray 193 Schedio Programmatos gia tin Anadiorganosi tis Ellinikis Mousikis (Theodorakis) 141 Schiller, Nina 172 schizophonia 193 second programme (deftero programma, Greek radio) 16, 45 Seferis, Giorgos 32, 36n8, 53, 58–59, 61–63, 67 semi-Rock 93n26 Semsis, Stamos 201 Sentiment (Niadoka) 119 sentimentalism 163 Sex, Drugs, and Rebetiko 220–221 Sgouros, Dimitris 188 Shahidan (Madadi) 10 Shostakovich, Dmitri 55 Shqipëri O Nëna Ime (Da New Chain) 171–174 Sibai, Olivier 122n8 Sicilianos, Yorgo 72 Sideris, Dimitris 188 Sifakis, Ilias 113, 117, 119 Sikelianos, Angelos 61 Silverman, Carol 153 Sinatra, Frank 1, 2 singing poets 63 situated cosmopolitanism 180, 205 Six D.O.G.S. 135n7

skyladika (dog songs) 26, 49, 118, 135n7, 240; and Cretan music 187, 188 Slobin, Mark 184 Small Music Theatre (SMT) 126, 129 smyrneiko (pl. smyrneika) 4, 21 social justice, and Gypsy music 159–161 social network analysis 98, 120 Sogioul, Michalis 21–22 Solomos, Dionysios 58, 61, 63 Sonata tou Selinophotos (Ritsos) 59 Song Books (Cage) 130 song cycles 61; Hadjidakis 54, 70, 74; Platonos 107; Theodorakis 55, 56–57, 58 Song Olympiad see International Song Olympiad space, and experimental music 126–129 Special Interrogation Unit of Greek Military Police (EAT/ESA) 139; torture by 145–149, 146, 147 spectacle 44, 45, 49 spectatorship see live music nightclubs, spectatorship in Spitambelos, Stephanos 22 Spyridakis, Zacharis 188–189 stage policing, in nightclubs 46, 47–48, 48 Stassinopoulou, Kristi 181 Stavrakakis, Vasilis 189 Stella (Cacoyannis) 57 Stephanos (Kalogiannis) 148 Stereo Nova 111n3 Sto Perigiali to Krypho (Theodorakis) 61–63 Stokes, Martin 4, 35, 50n17 Stratakis, Giorgos 189 Stratakis, Nikos 189 studio recording: Ach! Psychi mou Fantasmeni 88; aesthetics 91; Agia Nostalgia 89; Aspromavres Istories 87–88; Cretan music 186; I Ekdikisi tis Gyftias 86–87 Sugarman, Jane 173 surrealism 60 Sweet Dreams (Eurythmics) 118 Synentefxi (Vissi) 38n24 Synerga (Papazoglou) 88 Synnefiasmeni Kyriaki (Tsitsanis) 231 syrtaki 3, 55; see also dances/dancing Ta Epikaira (TV program) 144 Ta Logia mou 111n1 Ta Nisiotika (MINOS-EMI) 194 Tahuri, Nasser 10 Tani V. 167 Tanke, Joseph 79 Tarantino, Quentin 222

264 • Index Tarzan (Markopoulos) 146, 148 tavernas 19 taxonomy/typology 6, 15, 187 technoculture 54, 90, 97–98, 113–122 Teodora 200 Terror X Crew 29 The Children of Piraeus (Hadjidakis) 219 The Cool World (Gilespie) 7 The Hostage (Behan) 58 The Muppet Show 3 Theatro Technis 66 Theodorakis, Mikis 7, 26n8, 36n8, 223, 233; Antigone 55, 61; Antonis 9–11; arrest and exile of 58, 61; art-popular song 56–59; awards 55; early years 56; and Elytis 60–61; Epitaphios 55, 56–57, 59, 61, 83–84, 143; and folk music 141; Machomeni Koultoura 59; popular oratorio 53, 56, 58, 60–61; relationship with poets 63–64; and Ritsos 59; and Seferis 61–63; theatrical works of 58; and Vissi 31–32; Zorbas’ Dance 3, 219–220 33 1/3 (Cage) 130 This is Locomondo 2011 (Locomondo) 199 Tijuana Brass 219 tis xenitias 175n12 To ‘62 tou Manou Hadjidaki 103 2Die4 168 To Gelasto Paidi (Theodorakis) 58 To Gramma (Malamas) 215 To Spasimo ton Pagon (Platonos) 104, 108–109 To Tram to Telefteo (Sogioul) 22 Tonylight 113 torture, and music 145–149, 146, 147 tourism 224–225, 226 tradition 211, 226; and Cretan music 185; and entechno 88–89; and experimental music 129, 130; Hadjidakis on 77; see also paradosi transcultural music 9 transgressive listening 111 translatability 3, 11 transnationalism 35; and chipmusic 97, 98, 113, 120, 122; and entechno production 88; film industry 10, 11; and Greek ethnic jazz 7; and Greekness 9; and Malamas 180, 205, 207, 210, 216; and migration policy 168; and rap music 169 Travels in Crete (Pashley) 185 Trintignant, Jean-Louis 10 Trubeta, Sevasti 155 Trumpener, Katie 153 Trypes 93n25, 229, 237, 239–241, 247; Ennia Pliromena Tragoudia 232, 240–241, 245; Kefali

Gemato Chrysafi 237, 245–246, 246; Mesa sti Nychta ton Allon 240, 245; Party ston 13o Orofo 87, 232, 233–234, 243–244 Trypes (Trypes) 233, 235, 243–245 Tsaknis, Dionisis 157 tsamiko 141 Tsarouchis, Yannis 67, 76 Tsetsos, Markos 12n12 tsifteteli (pl. tsiftetela) 33, 45, 88, 162, 163, 222 tsifteteli-pop 239, 247n17 tsinganoi 154–155, 156, 156, 159, 161, 164n4 Tsitsanis, Vasilis 7, 15, 19–20, 26n6, 57, 213; Dilitirio sti Fleva 210; style of laiko 20–21, 23; Synnefiasmeni Kyriaki 231 Tsomidis, Ioannis 7 Tsotou, Sofia 159 Turino, Thomas 50n19 Turkish-gypsy songs 24, 26n7, 162 Tzouganakis, Michalis 183, 189 Un Croissant, S’il Vous Plait (Ultrasyd) 120 underground music 118, 126, 131 Valaoritis, Nanos 67 Vamvakaris, Markos 213, 220 Vandi, Despina 198 Vardis, Antonis 30 vareladika (barrel dens) 247n17 vari laiko 23–26 Varnalis, Kostas 64n3 Vasiliadis, Charalambos 23 Vasiliou, Annula 161 Vassilikos, Vassilis 64n2 Veliotis, Nikos 129, 131, 183, 238, 239 Veniadis, Moav Elinoar 10 verticality and encompassment 49 Vickers, Miranda 174 Videogame Orchestra (VGO) 119 Virvos, Kostas 23 Vissi, Anna 15–16, 29–30, 30; early career and first major successes 30–32; Greece in 1990s 32–35; and pista music 15–16, 34, 35, 36; recent years 35–36 Vitali, Eleni 157 Vitti, Mario 60 Vlastos, Pavlos 188 Voskopoulos, Tolis 26 Vraskos, Dimitris 72 Watan (Madadi) 9–10 wayfaring 9, 10 weekly magazines 19

Index • 265 weird wave cinema 2 Western music 20, 22, 142, 143 Westernization 5; see also Europeanness White, Jim 183 Whose is this Song? (Peeva) 202 Woods, Phil 7 world music 179, 225; celebratory narratives of 85; and Cretan music 183, 184, 185, 186, 188; and cultural politics 193; and East–West mythology 7, 33; globalism of 9; and Greek ethnic jazz 7; and hybridity 85; and ikariotikos 192, 193; and Ioannidis 92; and Malamas 215–216; and rebetiko 220, 223 World War II 56 Xanthoula 58, 61, 63 Xenakis, Iannis 71, 72, 103, 130, 131 Xydakis, Nikos 54, 86–87, 215 Xylouris, Antonis 183, 189 Xylouris, Giorgis 183, 189

Xylouris, Nikos 141, 183, 185 Xylouris White ensemble 183, 189 Yannatou, Savina 101, 102, 226 Yiftoi 156, 161 Yiovanna 11 Ymnos eis tin Elephtherian (Mantzaros) 58 Z (Gavras) 10, 64n2 Zabetas, Giorgos 26 Zambelios, Spyridon 63 zeibekiko (pl. zeibekika) 23, 26n5, 45, 57, 212, 220; argo zeibekiko 88; Dilitirio sti Fleva 210; and Greekness 224 0′00″ (Cage) 130 Zervakis, Giorgos 189 zigia 181 Zoidakis, Nikos 189 Zorba the Greek (Cacoyannis) 2–3, 7, 55, 183, 219 Zorbas’ Dance (Theodorakis) 3, 219–220