On Friday night I saw Arthur Meschian perform in concert in Vanadzor at the Charles Aznavour Theater, the second of four shows being performed. He played in Gyumri on October 25, and is performing in Yerevan on Sunday and on November 1 at Aram Khachaturian Hall in the Opera House. The evening marked the first time that he played on the Vanadzor stage in 30 years.His tour is supporting the release of his latest disc, a recording of a concert given last year also in Aram Khachaturian Hall. This time around he is playing other songs from his career that he has not played in public for 30 years or more. Meschian made four official studio recordings, all self released, in the early 1990s. Before that a live recording on cassette could be found which I happily own, although it is now out of circulation and is for the most part impossible to come by. Only private bootleg recordings of his early material with his band Apostles from the early 1970s exist, as he was apparently constantly hassled by the KGB, which was not taking very kindly to young rock musicians performing songs with subtle messages of defying the establishment, not to mention getting kids overly excited.
Now he is digging some of those early songs out of the closet so to speak and is performing them live, specifically "Footsteps (Kayler)" and "Where Were You God? (Ur Eyir Astvadz)," which is to date his most controversial song, as the lyrics have been misinterpreted to mean that he is denying the existence of God by unwaveringly interrogating the deity, when in fact the intent was an attempt by the artist to understand rather than blindly criticize. The song was picked up by Armenian dance hall sensation Harout Pamboukjian, who influenced thousands of teenagers to sway their hips to his funky interpretation. Armenian nationalist groups began using the song to suit their own anti-church, anti-religion interests, and the underlying message became lost, especially when Meschian refused to perform it any longer, even allegedly regretting having written it in the first place (at the tender age of 16). The artist is also performing a "lost" song composed by the minstrel and devout priest Sayat Nova, the lyrics of which were written in krapar, or Old Armenian, and transcribed by Meschian.
The two-and-a-half hour show divided in two sets was simply terrific. He had the same five-piece band with which I saw him perform exactly a year ago at the Gomitas Chamber Hall in Yerevan. Musicians included the great folk-rock guitarist Vahan Artsuni, who is a disciple of Meschian having performed with him in the 1980s, Arthur Molitvin on bass, the drummer for Vostan Hayots, Levon Hakhverdian, who incidentally performed at their reunion concert last week given in Yerevan, and on keyboards my friend from Boston, not to mention Meschian's longtime amigo, Ara Sarkissian, a talented composer himself. Meschian doubled on electric piano and acoustic guitar. This time around Hakhverdian was actually permitted to play his instrument instead of performing in a frustrated mime-like muffled manner at the show I attended last year, by the strict instructions of his leader. He justly proved himself to be an exceptional rock drummer, and his rhythms fueled Meschian the entire evening, whose voice seemed to soar in kind. In mention about Meschian's vocals, I cannot hear any great difference in his voice between the one on the cassette recording I described above made in 1986 and his singing the other night. In fact I would say it is far better now. His voice is uniquely identifiable, the kind in which within a five-second duration of hearing a song you immediately know who is singing, even if you have never heard the tune before. Only a handful of such singers come to mind, and Meschian is obviously one of them. He does not really need a microphone to project his booming tenor voice in an acoustic setting, assuming he is in a hall able to accommodate it.
The music is rock in its most tribal form, the musicians all in communion with their instruments, forming a tightly-knit unbreakable structure of sound. Meschian chose amplified acoustic guitars rather than electric, which gave each of the songs a richer, fuller uncompromising sound. Regrettably, Ara's keyboards were washed out throughout most of the performance, with the exception of the less percussive pieces. The band opened with a brand new song written by Meschian only a couple of weeks ago, a bombastically rocking melody that was too intense for its audience in my opinion. Most of the songs performed were previously recorded on his studio albums, including one from his seven-track contemplative musing on religion, "Communion." All of them were subsequently released in a four-disc set, titled "Hit Collection" about four years ago. Notable pieces were the songs with words taken from Moushegh Ishkhan's poems "So They Say (Asum En)," "Ancient Land (Yergir Hnamya)," "With A Deaf Shriek (Khoul Harachanki)," and "I Used To Know (Araj Kideyi)." Other classics included "One Last Time (Verjin Ankam)," "I'm Amazed (Zarmanum Em Yes)," "My Years (Im Dariner)," and "Maybe I'm Crazy (Mi Gutse Yes Khent Em)."
Tinges of boogie-woogie, early blues, Check Berry-era rock 'n roll, American folk, and even Johannes Brahms, strange as it sounds, can he heard in Meschian's music. Nevertheless his sound is wholly unique, as he is doing something very few have ever been able to do successfully in rock music, such as using the amplified acoustic guitar in a way to project the music the electric guitar player can only dream of doing otherwise. The careful arrangements and the musicians he meticulously chooses facilitate this goal.
I was told by Ara that Meschian is doing some more writing, so I am assuming we can expect a record of brand-new songs sometime soon, hopefully within the next year or so. But this is his third or fourth time emerging from "retirement," or rather unusually prolonged breaks in performing (he is an architect by profession), so we don't know what to expect or when to expect it. However, we can least be comforted by the fact that he's not giving in to his creativity, as he clearly communicated through his stellar performance; he has not abandoned his muse.
Labels: Music, Personal Experiences
I wanted to persuade readers to learn more about the situation in Kashatagh, the region formerly referred to as Lachin, and where the town Berdzor, which was also called Lachin, is located. Kashatagh is a strategically important region to
Kashatagh is being depopulated at an alarming rate. According to statistics accrued by photojournalist Onnik Krikorian, who has discussed in detail the crisis Kashatagh is facing, “The population of the town of
Dozens of Armenians from the diaspora chose to settle in the region after the war’s ceasefire, many of them relocating from
Edik Baghdasaryan summed up the situation best in a short commentary which was published on Monday, October 23 on Hetq. He states, “It is hard to understand how the whole nation can unite for the cause of genocide recognition, can spend so many resources on it and spare no effort or expense, but also be indifferent to its real motherland and hard-earned victories.”
He also points out that “Armenian political parties are only interested in one thing—seizing power in order to make money, start businesses and exploit the people… None of them wants to speak out on these issues. And this is not because they are afraid of being wrong, but simply because they have nothing to say—this holds for both the 115-year old Armenian Revolutionary Federation and Prosperous Armenia, founded recently and mainly dealing in the distribution of wheat and potatoes.”
I agree entirely with Edik’s comments, as they are points I have been trying to make during the near last two years of this blog’s existence. The same party, namely the Armenian Revolutionary Federation, that sent countless members to fight in the war between 1990-1994 now has nothing viable to say regarding the depopulation of Kashatagh—where some of its members chose to reside—nor has it really made any comments regarding the return of these lands to Azerbaijani control, another issue that was hotly debated by the party only five years ago. These things have to be acknowledged—politicians don’t care about the future of Nagorno-Karabagh and all that was sacrificed during the war, it can’t be more obvious.
If you have doubts, read articles that can be found here, here, here, here, here, here, and here.
To sign a petition addressed to the presidents of
Labels: Nagorno-Karabagh, Politics
Ironically the most fashionable people walking the streets are Iranian students and to some extent Indians as well. They always seem to be showing off the latest sporty and striking couture that can be found in clothing stores in Europe or the US, as confirmed by my recent trip there, not to mention hair styles. The fashion sense they reflect is what you would see on European television commercials and some shows broadcasted from Russia, but Armenians are not catching on. Rarely do you see young men wearing jeans for instance, and the ones they do bother putting on are usually dark gray or black, with an acid-wash, faded look to them so popular 15 years ago.
There are exceptions of course, with people making efforts to indeed be stylish, but it’s slow coming. Some portly men for instance are starting to waddle around wearing zippered athletic suits, even sneakers with an Adidas or Puma insignia. Young bankers appear to be looking distinctively sharp. Now a Benetton shop can be found on Republic Square, and a Levi’s store has been in business for a little over six months located on Mashdots. There are also some interesting Italian moderately priced or up-scale casual clothing stores popping up, such as Terranova and Stefanel, respectively, both of which just opened a few weeks ago, but the men’s selections are skimpy. And although both stores had some customers when I visited them with my wife, I did not see anyone walking out with shopping bags. I’m anticipating that people will start to catch on—only time will tell. The hope is that people will begin wearing actual colors as a start.
Labels: Fashion, Social and Cultural, Thoughts and Musings
The genesis of Vostan Hayots was in 1986, when a small group of guys with musical ambitions started hanging out figuring out ways to play rock, during a time when assembling in any unapproved form could land you into problems. They composed many songs over the length of their career, although the band broke up several times, having three incarnations yet at least two loyalists the entire tenure. But the members all assumed roles in other ventures. I learned that the guitarist arrived from Moscow just to play once again with the band—he now operates a rock guitar school there. I recognized the drummer as the guy who accompanied Artur Meschian in recent gigs and undoubtedly will take part in the shows that will be given next weekend. Vostan Hayots played a week ago at the Stop Club, arguably the best forum for intimate, live performances now, and last night’s show was their last apparently for the time being.
The first set featured their own material exclusively, and the songs were very impressive. The band is obviously influenced by hard rock legends from the 1970s as evident in their style and playing. I had heard only one or two of the songs before. They played about six or seven songs, then the leader announced that it was time for the “ancient ones” to rest. Thirty minutes later they were back on stage—if you could call it that, a short platform barely large enough to hold a small drum kit—and sang about three more original pieces, including one sung by the lead guitarist and a vocal duo, with the leader and his sister, perhaps a unofficial fifth member at one point in the band’s history. The music was really powerful and exciting—I think its great to hear live rock music sung with Armenian lyrics, it’s a rare privilege it seems but it’s wonderful when it happens and you are there to absorb the exhilarating energy.
Then the covers began. They started with Jimi Hendrix’s classic “Purple Haze,” then Metallica’s “Seek and Destroy,” and others. It was not until their rendition of “Smoke on the Water” when I realized I was in deep trouble, far from purple. Kourghinyan has a great voice but it was unable to handle the demanding covered tunes they played. The remainder of the songs from the set were not originals to say the least, and apparently the third set included more covers. I did not bother to stick around, fortunately for me but not unfortunate for the band, as they already pocketed my 3,000 dram and could do anything they pleased, namely perform tunes that perhaps any garage band would likewise. Nevertheless, they should have stuck to their own material.
In any case, it was a splendid, but bittersweet way to spend a couple of hours on a rainy Friday night. It was the second time I patronized the basement-floor location of my former haunt of four years ago, the much revered and still talked about Subway club, a fantastic place to hear jazz music performed by some of the greats in Yerevan, and where at one time I visited at least twice a week. The place has changed quite a lot I would say—the bar and the stage in the same respective places but the atmosphere as well as the vibes have taken on an entirely different audience, adjusting to a dissimilar culture in taste.
Onnik who was also at the show has written extensively about the literally underground rock movement in Armenia, and has even interviewed Kourghinyan, who incidentally has another band called Army of God. Read more about Vostan Hayots here and here.
Labels: Music
But I was lucky enough to view it from start to finish this time around, from what looked like a newly struck print from the original master negative I am guessing. The colors were vivid and there were virtually no defects in the form of grain, excessive dust, or tape splices. In fact I have not seen any of the classic Armenian films in better condition than this one.
This film produced in 1972 stars some of the great legends of Armenian cinema, notably Mher “Frunze” Mkrtchyan and Armen Jigarkhanian. Other actors include Azat Sherents, Avetik Gevorkyan, Armen Ayvazyan, and Alla Tumanyan.
“Men” is about four close friends who are all taxi drivers. Three of them are trying to help the fourth, Aram played by Gevorkyan, who is a shy, slightly built but handsome twentysomething, gain favor of the woman with whom he is in love—a violinist and swimmer, Karine, played by Tumanyan. They invent several scenarios through which she will hopefully notice him, thereby giving him the green light to make his move. None of their preposterous schemes work, but their efforts are simply hilarious. Several times throughout the film images appear of a group of about twenty or so men dancing in a tight band shoulder to shoulder through a field full of wild poppies high atop Armenia’s signature green hills just beside an ancient church. The narrator of the film, Edgar Elbakyan, recalls the tale of Aram and his lads, and during one of the scenes of modern life in Aram’s home village he states “…the woman tended to the domestic chores while the men only danced…” A classic line and a slight jab at the Armenian mentality.
The film’s quality was remarkable considering that it was produced by Hayfilm Studio, whose archives were undoubtedly damaged in the energy crisis that Armenia endured during the early 1990s. Ariga guessed that this print probably came from the film archives in Moscow, and she’s probably right about that judging from the relatively poor condition of classic films I have seen on television to date, with faded colors and barely audible sound tracks. Dozens of Soviet-era Armenian films have been restored to the degree feasibly possible and transferred to video, and they are readily available. You never know what you’re going to get unfortunately until you actually purchase the VHS tape or DVD, if the title is even available in that format.
Apparently “Men” has just been released on DVD, as noted on the Narek.com Web site which sells music recordings, movies, and books. Since television stations in Armenia love to broadcast pirated, copyright-violated movies several times each day, I am assuming they showed the DVD release. I’ll have to purchase my own pirated copy somewhere….
Last Saturday night while in Vanadzor I caught another classic on television, also featuring Mher Mkrtchyan—by far my favorite Armenian film actor—called “A Slice of Heaven” (Mi Gdor Yergink). The film released in 1980 also stars Ashot Adamyan and Sofiko Chiaureli, who incidentally played the mysteriously beautiful female lead in Sergei Parajanov’s masterpiece “The Color of Pomegranates.”
The film tells the story of Torik, an orphan who becomes the apprentice of a saddle maker named Grigor-agha, played wonderfully by Mkrtchyan. The adult Torik, portrayed by Adamyan inherits the business when his mentor passes away, and thus is not too attractive to the young ladies since none of them want to marry someone who specializes in making customized seats to rest on the backs of donkeys.
That’s where the fun begins in this film. It describes perfectly a now outdated Armenian custom where the mother of a young man is expected to present a gift, usually in the form of a small bag full of gold coins, to a family with the intention of asking their daughter to give her hand in marriage to her son. In place of Torik’s mother, his aunt Turvanta, played by Chiaureli, makes the rounds throughout town. She is always rebuked, mocked, or both by any family or individual member she approaches. Torik resorts to drinking to take out his frustrations, while Turvanta never relents in finding his mate for life. Finally he falls in love with a sweet, yet timid traveling call girl, to put it mildly, and vows to make a new life for her—his “angel” as her name Angele, played by Galina Belyayeva, suggests—which she allows willingly, but not before the town tries to demonize the three of them first.
The one thing I love the most about this film is its parody on the entire Armenian engagement process. The setting was somewhere in Western Armenia—the dialogue in the entire film was exclusively in the country’s dialect—just after the turn of the 20th century, judging by the town’s wealthiest young man driving the first and only automobile anyone has seen there. Yet very little has changed in the mentalities of Armenian families regarding who their daughters should marry. The aim is still to attract someone who has plenty of money—in the US at least this would mean preferably a doctor or lawyer—as it is the most important if not the only prerequisite. At the very least the man should have a good occupation that is acceptable as being rewarding to some degree, and naturally he should be Armenian. That last requirement is not being heeded as much as it used to since it can no longer be enforced, especially when you’re living in a country built with multicultural solidarity. Also brilliantly expressed in the movie is the detrimental power of gossip, something that Armenians are masters at wielding. You can easily destroy a person’s credibility and pride by spreading scornful rumor in Armenian society, as this film accurately demonstrates when one family is obliged to leave the town in utter disgrace.
“A Slice of Heaven” has also apparently been recently issued on DVD (as “A Piece of Sky”), which also explains the high quality of this broadcast. I remember seeing part of this film before one or twice on TV and being extremely frustrated by the muffled sound, to the point where I just shut it off. The dialogue this time around was perfectly clear, and there was no audible distortion whatsoever. Hayfilm, now known as Armenia Film Studios, has only recently been privatized in 2005, purchased by CS Media co-owned by Gerard Cafesjian and Bagrat Sargisyan, the same duo who run channel Armenia. So something very noteworthy is happening with keeping these films alive for future generations to savor, something for which we should be very grateful.
Labels: Film and Art, Thoughts and Musings
Our friend Jacks and three of his co-workers at the
Apparently Jacks, who is an Indian national, and the three cooks who are from
So not only were they supposedly denied visas for the last 12 months, on that basis they are being denied for the coming year. And the only way out is to pay a total of $6000 for all four workers, mostly in undefined “fees.” The interesting thing is that no visa rejection letters were ever received—not by the co-owner, and not by the workers themselves.
The Embassy of India has sent two letters to the Armenian Ministry of Foreign Affairs—one in February and the other just last month—requesting that it look into determining a resolution to the matter. But both times the ministry insisted that there was nothing it could do. Supposedly the Indian ambassador herself has done little to help resolve the situation.
Jacks has been living in
All they want is to be able to live and work legally without complications. And the infamous OVIR (Office of Visas and Registration) of
Jacks met with one of the OVIR officers and told him that he as well as the others refused to pay the $1500 fee or bribe, depending on how you look at it. The OVIR officer then threatened him with immediate deportation, but a few weeks have gone by without any action thus far. It seems they are still stalling in hopes of being able to collect what they expect—I can’t say as I always have trouble trying to figure out what Armenians are thinking. However one thing is certain—they are trying to take advantage of foreign nationals who do not entirely know their rights and how to even defend them with fair representation.
The Armenian government should welcome any foreigners wanting to live and do business in
It’s unclear what’s in store for Jacks and the others. But one thing is clear—their basic rights to be treated as equal members of Armenian society are being violated. I wrote him a little while ago at someone’s suggestion, encouraging him to contact the office of the state human rights defender or ombudsman, Armen Harutyunyan, to see what could be done, if anything, on their behalf. I also told Jacks to keep on top of the Indian embassy each day by phoning them repeatedly, or else visit there and demand that the ambassador directly intervenes. A journalist friend of mine is also looking into the situation to discover what OVIR is up to regarding their case. Other than these things, I don’t know what else to do for them.
Labels: Social and Cultural
In what I believe is an unprecedented action, the National Assembly of the
The interesting thing is that under Armenian law, all government officials are immune from prosecution for any misdeed, which is convenient since so many of them are lawbreakers, conducting illegal business practices and so forth. Aghvan Hovsepyan, the Proscetutor-General, made his case last Friday to the National Assembly on the grounds for charging Hakobyan. The thug happens to be a member of the Republican Party of Armenia, headed by prominent figures such as Prime Minister Antranig Markarian and National Assembly leader Tigran Torosian, who by the way may be the party’s sole intellectual, although he has a wimpy voice and is thus mocked by the public.
Anyway, looks like this guy is being made an example of the basic foolishness people in government get away with, primarily because they own large-scale businesses and are connected with other public servants in one way or another who do the same. The Republican Party has recently been accused, mainly by prominent opposition leaders, to be composed of “criminal elements,” a vague term which has no clear definition unsurprisingly. It seems they want to set an example that they’re not bad boys, and they’re using one of their own members as a scapegoat, a presumably guilty one at that. A very interesting turn of events.
You can read more about this here and here.
Labels: Politics
Sergey is a mechanical engineer by training, working in that field until 1995, then decided to get into the farming business when corrupt government officials put the screws to him once too many times in an attempt to receive kickbacks from the profits he made. He had been running a state-owned factory which he leased to manufacture several metal-based goods, such as electric hotplates—which serves as a primary use for cooking in many households, primarily impoverished, that do not have gas or electric ovens—with folding legs for easy storage and an after market automotive part for the Lada “Zhiguli” used for effective interior heating.
He was inspired to enter the farming business when realizing that the land once cultivated yearly in his home village of Vosketap, located about 35 miles from Yerevan just beyond Khor Virap, had become a virtual desert, as local farmers gave up their occupation citing lack of financial resources to purchase seed as well as irrigation water or the simple unwillingness to work. From the onset Sergey studied the latest farming technologies immediately available in
Most of the crops grown are tomatoes, cucumbers, peppers, and eggplant. He also grows corn, and when all the vegetables are picked he turns over the soil to plant wheat, which he’ll do in a few weeks. This year he had a late start with sowing the seed since the springtime brought more rains than expected. To spread the seed just before a coming rainstorm would spell disaster as it would all simply wash away. You need to wait a day or two after the rain for the soil to stiffen a bit so the seed can settle and take root. Sergey may sell the land as intent to purchase has already been expressed.
He more recently installed a trailer as his base of operations which has a security light operating every evening to ward off thieves as well as coyotes. During his first year there he planted dozens of fruit trees, namely apricot, walnut, and apple, for his own use. The following spring he discovered that each sapling had been cut by local village inhabitants, presumably to use as firewood.
Although his business has been fairly lucrative, he has not profited from the necessary demand to pay out bribes. Several times the local administrative authorities decided to cut his electricity, most recently this past spring, in an attempt to earn cash through demanding “penalty fees” to restore the line. Sergey’s usual response to such circumstances was frustration. But he’s decided to take another approach. He explained to me that this last time he went to the regional offices and entered the utilities director’s office while he was out, then laid down on the guest sofa in an act of depressive desperation. When the director arrived Sergey discussed the problem with him, and he believing Sergey’s sad state to be real, immediately called for the electricity to be restored. The Vosketap mayor has also harassed him in the past for kickbacks when Sergey was still leasing the government land before it was privatized only last year, but those problems were resolved when Sergey agreed to sublease two hectares to the mayor for his own profit. Recently he complained to me that his own in-law, the mayor of the neighboring village, also earns tributes from local, less fortunate farmers.
Each year I have known Sergey he has threatened to quit his business when the season ended, but then studiously prepares for a new harvest season in the spring. He spends the winters studying, solving Sudoku or crossword puzzles, and playing in backgammon tournaments held in his apartment building. His personality and general outlook on life are unique for middle aged men living in
Most recently the agricultural ministry, having tested and determined his wheat to be of exceptionally high quality, asked that he donate it to residents of villages for their own farming purposes, which he agreed to do most willingly. But they decided to send the wheat to Ijevan, where there has traditionally been a lack of constant water availability. He knew this to be a case and stated that it would be better for the wheat to be distributed elsewhere where the flow of water was not a problem, but the authorities refused to listen to him, inquiring why he cared so much. Sergey then personally arranged for the transportation of the several tonnes worth of wheat seed to the town located in
Despite all this, he perseveres. Even his employees complain about trivialities—that their half-hour coffee break, frequent water breaks, and hour-long lunch time are not enough for rest. I noticed that they generally do not work hard, the young guys especially slacking off a good part of the time. Sergey and especially his brother Gurgen who supervises the workers are particularly gracious, paying the best salaries anywhere in the area, around $165 per month which is something not to be necessarily scoffed at for people living in villages who generally have less expenses than those living in Yerevan, where goods and services are much more expensive. Most if not all the homes I have visited in Vosketap have fairly large gardens with healthy fruit trees as well as vegetable plants, not to mention chickens and even turkeys, so people are more self-sufficient. But some employees with whom he had a verbal agreement chose to spend a day elsewhere to harvest grapes for instance. They next day they bothered showing up on the farm, Sergey promptly fired them. This has happened dozens of times, and each time he can’t figure out why people set themselves up to be relieved from work. He’s now having trouble finding reliable people from nearby villages.
My wife Ariga wanted to go there to speak with the employees harvesting crops, as well as the managers, namely Sergey, his brother, and brother-in-law, about the maturity of the crops, when the ideal time is to sow seed, their personal experiences with farming, and so forth. She has interests in agricultural-related projects, having worked on several with her father, Ferdinand Grigoryan, before he died in late 2004. I spend our two days there photographing as well as shooting video. We also ate well, as my surrogate mother accompanied us out there.
I’ve been fortunate enough to know people who own a farm and who encourage me to visit as frequently as possible. Visiting the area is always a very pleasant experience. I’ve been meaning to spend a night there with Ariga but that opportunity passed by this past summer when I was sent unexpectedly to the US on business for two months, but there’s always next year. Sergey already admitted to me that there’s a lot more work to do out there, whether he sells his land or not.
Labels: Personal Experiences, Photography, Social and Cultural
Unfortunately the rain as well as thick fog engulfing Shushi prevented Jason from seeing the Persian fortress, abandoned yet standing mosques, and the churches, but we were able to drive along the recently paved thoroughfare in the town’s center. The roads leading into the town however from the south and north are still devastated, something I cannot understand, since Shushi is such a strategic area. In the evening we went to a modern Internet café along Azadamartik Street, the main drag in Stepanakert, then went to a newly opened restaurant called “Dghyag” near the Nayri Hotel, which served very good pizza and salads. The capital city is still pretty clean compared with Yerevan, and seemingly dozens of businesses are preparing to open with several stores being renovated. It was good to see increasing progress, up from last year. Jason said he was expecting to see a magical city to some extent due to all the stories he has heard about how wonderful Stepanakert is. He seemed disappointed, but then I reminded him that a dozen years ago the city was in absolute shambles. I do like the city—it is much more relaxed than Yerevan and people seem much more patient as well as courteous.
Yet I found Karabagh a desolate place. While we drove along about half of the North-South highway on the way to Gansasar, which has been a destination for me and my companions to visit three of the four times I traveled to Karabagh, I found that there were virtually no other cars on the road. We counted a few minibuses full of tourists on their way to the site as we were returning to Stepanakert, but I do not recall more than a few passenger cars driving the opposite direction.
The landscape is exceptionally stunning—a turbulent sea of hills intertwined with jetting mountains. Areas are checkered in farming plots where various crops are grown or have already been harvested, such as corn, wheat, and vegetables. The tilled soil is nearly jet black, the richest soil I have seen. But I didn’t see anyone working in the fields, which was surprising. Once in a while we would run into an old man pulling along a donkey by a short rope tied around the animal’s neck, with a wrapped pile of dead tree limbs strapped to its back. But I did not see anything bustling in the villages we drove past. Perhaps I did not look hard enough or maybe I should have actually driven into them to get a better look. But the roads were empty. Karabagh seemed to have been ours for the early afternoon.
In the village of Vank where Gansasar is located perched atop of a mini-mountain, there is a strange resort with water sports apparently, something similar to Water World in Yerevan, but with seats surrounding the place like it was an amphitheater. The walls of the complex are covered in old, out of register license plates—it made me wonder where did all the cars go? The portion of the 15 km road leading to the village—which last year was a muddy nightmare when I took my parents to the monastery—has been completely paved with asphalt. Incidentally Gansasar is a fantastic place to visit, the most well kept monastery in Karabagh according to the priest that serves there. He personally defended the compound against Azeri gunfire during the war, and bullet holes are still visible in the walls.
People living in Karabagh have always been characterized as long as I can remember being told as extremely resilient as well as self-reliant. But I think this characterization is mostly out of date now. Regions are visibly emptying as my trip through Lachin, notably the administrative center Berdzor, proved. The town which was once inhabited by about 15,000 people now has an estimated population of 7,000, due to the inefficiency and incompetence of administrative officials. Some estimate the number of inhabitants in town to be lower. Last year while passing through there it seemed that many new homes were being or had recently been constructed. My trip this time showed the opposite to be true, or perhaps I was seeing things I did not before, such as dozens of abandoned or dilapidated buildings. Incidentally, abundant information about the depopulation of Lachin as well as other regions in Karabagh has been documented on Hetq Online and the Oneworld blog, both of which offer excellent accounts of what is happening there, including suggestions that the governments of the Republics of Armenia and Nagorno Karabagh are intentionally promoting a mass exodus by refusing to build the infrastructure there, as most villages have little to no running water as well as problems with readily available electricity, let alone natural gas lines.
There is speculation that in a final resolution to a peace deal regarding the status of Nagorno Karabagh, the Armenian side would be willing to even return the Lachin region, as well as the remaining ones surrounding Karabagh that Armenian forces now control. To return Lachin as well as Kelbajar to the north would be a strategic fiasco, but it seems it would be the only method to encourage the Azeri side to agree on finally relenting Karabagh without supposedly going to war, despite its seemingly weekly statements that suggest otherwise. I have often expressed on this blog that all regions occupied by Armenian forces should be returned to Azerbaijani control except Kelbajar and Lachin, and that Karabagh along with the two aforementioned regions should be united with Armenia in a referendum to be held immediately by the Karabagh people. I still hold this viewpoint as being the only viable, logical agreement to a peace agreement.
But everyone is leaving. Some think that the population of Karabagh has dropped from 120,000 Armenians to 50,000 since the declared ceasefire in 1994 or even before then. No one knows for sure as reliable census practices do not exist—people are counted twice or those who own houses but live abroad are still counted in current population figures. The same holds true for Armenia.
Although I feel that Karabagh has lots of potential, there is little to no investment there. Hotels are opening to serve tourists, which is great. But opportunities need to be created to employ the masses, whether they are in the form of opened factories, infrastructure building projects, or construction. Something needs to be done to jumpstart the economy in the region immediately—this also holds true for virtually all of Armenia except Yerevan, especially villages along state borders. There needs to be millions of dollars of investments made in Armenia—millions have already been made as we know but the funding up until now has not nearly been enough. Armenia has huge manufacturing capabilities—there are arguably hundreds of abandoned factories throughout the country to demonstrate this. Trade across state boundaries also needs to increase drastically.
A recent poll shows that 77 percent of people between the ages of 16-30 want to leave Armenia. I’m sure the percentage is just as high for people in Karabagh. People need to live here, and the youth need to stay. A lot more opportunity exists than before in Yerevan mainly but something needs to be done to prevent the current generation from leaving. Otherwise the country will be mostly depopulated in 20 years time at the rate things are going.
Armenians worldwide have lots of work to do to save Karabagh and Armenia. In my opinion they are not really doing much about its future and long-term sustainability. Everyone makes excuses, mostly social and cultural it seems, to not do the work that needs to be done, as Armenians can’t seem to get along with each other anywhere in the globe. But we have only one country, one nation that exists today. It should not be taken for granted, and its borders should not be considered forever permanent. Armenians more than ever need to work together, and vigorously at that, to secure its country’s place in the global community as a leading nation with strong industrial output as well as a land with a rich, cultural legacy that promotes active tourism. The latter thankfully is happening now but not the former. But it has to if Armenia and Karabagh—which must finally unite as soon as possible—is going to get anywhere. There’s too much at stake.
FYI--There is a new petition aimed to force the authorities of Armenia and Nagorno Karabagh to address the socioeconomic situation in the Lachin region, which is incidentally now known as Kashatagh. Go here to sign online.
Labels: Nagorno-Karabagh, Personal Experiences, Social and Cultural
On Saturday evening I had the rare—in fact probably the only—privilege to see Charles Aznavour perform live in Yerevan’s Republic Square. I cannot say just how many people were in attendance, but 2,000 available places for paid seating were sold out, and there seemed to have been tens of thousands standing around the main stage and audience, which both occupied the entire fountain area as well as walkways. A friend estimated that the crowds numbered at least 100,000 people. One jumbo-sized video screen flanked each side of the gigantic steel stage, and a third faced the throngs occupying the areas in front of the Marriott Hotel and the Converse Bank/Post Office buildings. Aznavour’s trip to Armenia also coincided with that of President of France Jacques Chirac, who is on a historic diplomatic visit and also attended the concert along side President Robert Kocharian, both of whom actually walked right past me and my wife Ariga while smiling charmingly. The concert, presented by his long-time manager Lévon Sayan, was sponsored in part by the “Arménie Mon Amie” series of cultural events that will take place through the end of this year and into the next.
As most people who know me understand, Aznavour is a personal hero of mine and has been since I can remember walking and talking as a small boy. During those years I would often be seen walking about the house holding something in my hand representing a microphone, like a wooden building block or whatever was handy, and rambling on in my own made-up babble that was supposed to sound like if not be the French language. I nearly got the songs’ melodies down, but I was obviously stumbling over the words. But no one cared, especially relatives who didn’t know what to make of my daily matinee performances—even those visiting from Marseilles, France as I distinctly remember.
By the time I grew a bit older, entering my teenage years, I had already placed the Aznavour records on the shelf for just short of a decade to explore other areas of music, namely rock and particularly jazz, when at the age of 16 or so I discovered John Coltrane, my other hero in song. Both Aznavour and Coltrane seem to be worlds apart, but if you examine carefully, you’ll notice striking similarities. Both were born in the 1920s coming from impoverished roots. They both struggled for nearly two decades before they would find their own distinct voice that caught the attention of the public at large, around 1960 or so. Their songs would reach out to and influence millions of devoted listeners in countries all over the globe. And both artists would expand their own musical realms in their own unique ways—Coltrane helming the avant-garde jazz movement, while many of the melodies for Aznavour’s songs were growing more intricate by the late 1960s to early 1970s. Alas, Coltrane did not physically endure as long as Charles, although his music certainly has.
The evening show was billed as Aznavour and His Friends, as he had about five opening acts, including the famous French chanteuse Nana Mouskouri, Hélène Ségara, and the great legendary arranger and songwriter Michel Legrand, who performed the love theme from the musical film “Les Parapluies de Cherbourg.” Then Aznavour burst onto the stage, as vibrant as he did when he was 40. I occasionally watch a video I have of him performing at the Olympia theater in Paris from 1968, and his motions on stage really have not changed much, but his presence has certainly become more intense. He wore all black, his signature of late, with a velvet suit jacket, cotton dress shirt, a cummerbund, and trousers, contrasted by his mane of silver gray hair, and he looked simply fabulous.
Aznavour mostly performed his signature songs that have sold hundreds of millions of records around the world. Since he was performing for a largely Armenian audience as well as for his fellow countrymen, he sang—thank god—only in French. Although in between songs he joked with the masses in Armenian. He started the set with his not-too-recent hit “Les Emigrants,” and later sang the title track from his 2002 album “Je Voyage” in a duet with his daughter, Katia. He also performed “Paris Au Mois D’Aout,” “Je M’voyais Déjà,” “Il Faut Savoir,” “Les Deux Guitares,” “Que C’est Triste Venise,” and some personal favorites, “Les Plaisirs Démodés” as well as “Desormais”—dad, eat your heart out. After he sang the last stanza of “La Bohème,” he tossed down in frustration his white handkerchief symbolizing the painter’s rag, as he has done possibly more than 10,000 times during the last 40 years. The backing orchestra included a string section, backup female vocals, and piano player, all of which always accompany him, and the usual drums, guitar, and bass, but there was no horn section as you sometimes hear in his live performances. Yet it didn’t matter. On stage was Aznavour.
I am biased when it comes to Aznavour, his performances, his look, charisma, and so forth, but I will have to say that his voice is still impeccably good. He is a hell of a performer on stage, whether you love him or not this fact cannot be denied. The entire time I was in a kind of trance, distracted from time to time by Ariga at my side who wanted to get my attention, feeling jealous somehow. Although it was technically the fourth occasion I saw Aznavour perform in my life, it was as if it was indeed the first time I was able to watch the master of French song up close, and actually hear him live, instead of live on a concert recording. In fact just shortly after he had begun to sing I found myself being moved slightly to tears, although my trance thankfully suppressed them from flowing. It was simply an amazing concert, and I still cannot believe he gave one in Armenia—I honestly never thought it was going to happen.
The people in the audience—and even those watching the televised broadcast at home—indeed were very lucky Saturday night. They had an unique opportunity to see before them one of the most prolific singer/songwriters of popular music that has ever lived and thankfully is still living. Aznavour only last year released yet another disc, entitled “Insolitement Vôtre,” of original songs, all of which he wrote both the words and music himself (as opposed to songs he has co-written—he naturally only records and performs his own material). In 2002 he vowed he would never give a world tour again, but like many great talents do, he went back on his word. He just finished touring the United States with a stop over in my native Boston, and I heard that he will soon be off to Japan, where he is also beloved. It was a rare glimpse at the fantastic world of Aznavour, the undeniable genius of Aznavour.
Vive la chanson Française! Vive Aznavour!
Photos Copyright © 2006 Ariga Grigoryan
Labels: Music, Personal Experiences, Photography, Social and Cultural
Another commenter on several blogs including mine and a former blogger herself, Nessuna, suggested that we go out and get rid of these things somehow, either with spray paint or with sandpaper, as I had suggested. We met this morning, and she brought along some heavy duty sand paper, which was actually damaging the stone as we attempted to scratch the black paint off the wall, as well as some spray paint to basically cover up the swastikas when possible. Luckily the first swastika we started to work on was just beside the vernisage, at the top of the tuf steps of the Republic Square metro station vicinity, so I ventured into the beginning part of it, just a 100 feet away or so, and found someone selling some sandpaper that looked as though it would do the job. I bought a couple of meters worth and brought them back to the wall for us to get to work. There were five of us altogether, including the two of us, my with Ariga, Onnik, and a German tourist named Felix.
I am happy to say that we were able to remove just about all the swastikas we found in my neighborhood—for the most part the only area I have seen them at all. Most of them were removed by scratching the paint away, which took a lot of resilience as well as patience, but within a two-hour time span they were gone. Nessuna was able to get a hold of some white spray paint to cover up a swastika drawn on a pale-colored metal kiosk closed for business.
It strikes me as hard to believe that some punk is running around Republic Square painting swastikas in some kind of perverse display of national pride, while Armenians are being either brutally beaten or killed in Moscow as well as Krasnodar by neo-Nazi groups. Never mind the fact that over 200,000 Armenians died during World War II to make sure that symbol never draped over the wall of the Government Building on Republic Square. Really, I don’t know what this guy is thinking, but he is seriously misguided, and one only hopes his parents catch on to what he’s been doing, then knock some sense into his pea-brained skull. I hate seeing swastikas anywhere I happen to be, and the last place I want to see them is near my home. Actually, the first thing I saw when I got back about 10 days ago were four of them painted in a grid pattern on a garage door just near the entrance to my section of the apartment building. Nessuna happened to see the owners of the garage today and told them what we had been up to. Within the hour they had painted over the graffiti as well.
So our efforts were not in vain—we were able to get through to some out there that they should take matters into their own hands when they don’t like to see something instead of waiting for someone else, like the “government” to do something about it. One guy even came over and began lecturing Ariga about how to properly remove the paint with the sandpaper by wrapping it around a hard object like a small piece of wood or rock, which was conveniently at hand, then run it across the stone surface in long, even strokes. As Onnik pointed out, to get the job done yourself may never sink in, but at least I feel content that we took matters into our own hands by cleaning away symbols representing hatred, destruction, and pure evil.
Labels: Personal Experiences, Social and Cultural
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