Aman

Amanes are a musical form which has both Turkish and Greek origins. They were  brought to Greece after the Turkish-Greek War of 1920-1922 by the flood of refugees that streamed out of Asia Minor. The sheer numbers of refugees created an audience for the music and there were many musicians among them. More importantly, their associations with the laments of Greek folk tradition, made them an ideal way to express the grief and nostalgia felt by the refugees. They were a cry of bitterness from the dispossessed, many of whom were mourning for the loss of loved ones and their worldly fortunes. 

For the newly arrived refugees, the cafes of Athens were places to gather and collectively mourn the loss of their homelands while at the same time enjoying the talented artists who had emigrated from Constantinople or Smyrna. These artists soon made a large impact on the local Greek musical scene. One of the best practitioners of this particular art form was a Rembetissa name Rita Abdazi. Not much is known about her life. She was born in Smyrna in 1903 and fled Greece as a refugee with her mother and sister in 1922. Her father was among the thousands of missing men who had been routinely separated from their families before their expulsion from Asia Minor. He was either killed or sent to work in a labor battalion somewhere in the Anatolian interior never to be heard from again.

The tragedy of her life and the lives of so many other Greeks is reflected in her powerful music. Indeed, they can be heard and felt in her voice, particularly in the many haunting amanades for which she became famous. Abadzi’s voice has been described as earthy and soulful. Her amanes are uniquely adapted to the plight of the refugees and close in spirit and sentiment to the many Greek folk songs about ksenitia (foreign lands). These songs are often about the loss of sons, husbands or other male kin who have gone abroad. Gazeli Neva Sabah is an example of one of Abadzi’s more chilling amanades. These  vocal improvisations built around the word “aman,” which is used in both Greece and throughout the Middle East are an expression of despair and frustration. Gazeli Neva Sabah was recorded in Athens in 1934. Abadzi is accompanied by Lambros Savaïdis on kanun (a stringed instrument with a narrow trapezoidal soundboard) and Dimitris Semsis (Salonikios) on violin. Its lyrics are both sobering and heartfelt:

Aman
A person must give some thought to the hour of his death;
when he will go down into the black earth
and his name will be erased.

The concept of the black earth, is an ancient one for the Greeks, stretching back millennia. Homer uses it, albeit in its archaic form no fewer than five times in the Iliad. In Book II, he describes the death of a captain called Protesilaus by writing:

‘ere now the black earth held him fast.

In modern Greek literature and music, the black earth represents not only death, but also foreign exile such as the kind experienced by Abadzi and her family. It also alludes to the death of Greek culture in Asia Minor following the catastrophe of 1922 and the expulsion of the Greek population. Three-thousand years of Hellenism was snuffed out virtually overnight and, as the song says, "its name erased."

Comments

[Margaret]

Fits my mood, and interesting to learn of a musical tradition that parallels the sad laments of Celtic fisherwomen - and no doubt there are others throughout the world.

Here's a link to another song from that tradition of sad women - this, sung by one of my favourite singers, Julie Fowlis, was (so says a comment under the clip) composed by a girl who was exiled from her home and is working as a servant in a castle on the island of Coll, and her brothers come to visit the castle and she recognises them but can't speak to them because she's in disgrace - and she says she would rather return with them to Uist if her prayer was answered. I wouldn't know what any of it means, but it is beautiful, lilting.

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=MnBBQ-_D2Hc

[Stavros]

I love it. And I love that one of the string instruments is a bouzouki.

I enjoy a rousing happy song now and then. My favorite songs however, are those sad, cry in your beer ballads. Aman.

[Margaret]

Since you noticed the bouzouki, you might, then, be interested to read about the history of the bouzouki in Irish music:

http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Irish_bouzouki

Julie Fowlis normally plays with another bouzouki player, her husband, Eamon Doorley, so it sounds as if the Wiki entry perhaps underplays the use of the bouzouki nowadays since Julie Fowlis has a huge following in the UK and even tours in the US.

[Stavros]

Julie is a gem and I thank you for introducing me to her. Music, no matter where it comes from is influenced by other traditions. I have been listening to her this evening. I do not know a word of this song yet I understand it completely:

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=ez1O5swf1IM

[Margaret]

I sat at her feet on a cushion, with my family, and listened to her sing the song in your clip last August, just a few miles down away from home. Completely in awe. My daughter's godmother joined us - she's become a fluent Gaelic speaker and harp player and the evening, the music and the friendship, resulted in her spending the night in tears and the next morning too ... Disconcerting for us as hosts, but such was the power of the music. She's just about to return now from a year spent on Julie's island, where she has been composing her own fisherwomen's songs.

I very much hope that Kevin knows Julie Fowlis's music, and appreciates a Celtic/Greek synergy more cultured than Stavros Flatley ... :).

[Stavros]

As my wife says, we all need a good cry now and then. Music will certainly provide the impetus.

Gotta love a guy with a name like Stavros and a map of Cyprus tattooed on his chest.

As for Kevin, I'll send him a link to make sure.

[maria]

interesting post - i find the aman music too heavy to listen to; it has to be late at night, and i have to be on my own with no one too close around me

[Stavros]

It's an acquired taste. I promise to post something a little more lively soon.