More Walls to Tear Down (Part I)

                                                              © Angeliki Tsapatsari

                                                              © Angeliki Tsapatsari

                                                               © Angeliki Tsapatsari

                                                              © Angeliki Tsapatsari

                                                               © Angeliki Tsapatsari

                                                               © Angeliki Tsapatsari

                                                                © Angeliki Tsapatsari

                                                               © Angeliki Tsapatsari

                                                                © Angeliki Tsapatsari

                                                               © Angeliki Tsapatsari

"Τραγούδα λεύτερη καρδιά...": Μια μαντινάδα για το Γιάννη Χαρούλη

    Χτες βράδυ είχα την χαρά να παρακολουθήσω τη ζωντανή εμφάνιση ενός νέου Ελληνα καλλιτέχνη με μοναδικό στίγμα, του Γιάννη Χαρούλη. Οι εμφανίσεις του στο Βοτανικό τις ημέρες της ολιγοήμερης παραμονής μου στην πατρίδα ήταν μια πολύ ευχάριστη σύμπτωση που δε θα άφηνα να πάει χαμένη. Ηταν μια βραδιά μαγική, πανθομολογούμενα. Πολλά τα highlights, οι αναμνήσεις και τα συναισθήματα στον απότοκό της.

     

    Θυμήθηκα πόσο διαφορετικό είναι απλά να αγαπάς και να παρακολουθείς έναν καλλιτέχνη από το ραδιόφωνο, την τηλεόραση και το Youtube από το να ΧΑΙΡΕΣΑΙ μια ζωντανή παράσταση. Και πόσο μάλλον όταν ο καλλιτέχνης αυτός δεν είναι απλά διεκπεραιωτικός, δεν κυνηγάει απλά το μεροκάματο του σήμερα. Η μουσική είναι το οξυγόνο για το είναι του και ο παλμός του διαπερνάει όλο το κοινό του. «Τελευταία βραδιά απόψε, ρε γαμώτο» είπε χτες ο Γιάννης, και σου έδινε την αίσθηση ότι εκείνη τη στιγμή δεν θα ήθελε να είναι πουθενά αλλού στον κόσμο. Δεν θυμάμαι τρία encore σε καμία άλλη εμφάνιση καλλιτέχνη και το ακροατήριο να σείεται και για τέταρτο, να ζητάει κι άλλο.

    Μια συναυλία όμως δεν είναι μόνο ένας καλλιτέχνης και το έργο του. Μια συναυλία, αν αφεθείς ελεύθερος, μπορεί να σε ταξιδέψει μακριά, έξω από τους τέσσερις τοίχους του χώρου, σε μέρη πολλά και αναμνήσεις γλυκόπικρες.

    Μα γιατί το τραγούδι να’ναι λυπητερό... Τα ζεστά καλοκαιρινά βράδια της προεφηβείας μου, με το παράθυρα, τις μπαλκονόπορτες και το ραδιόφωνο ανοιχτά, να κολλάω στον κρύο τοίχο για να ξεφύγω για λίγο του καύσωνα και το τραγούδι αυτό να γεμίζει χαμηλόφωνα το χώρο. Χρόνια μετά, έλα πάρε με, σ’ άλλα ταξίδια μακρινά στου δειλινού τα μενεξιά. Αλλα χρόνια, ίδια αίσθηση...

    Πώς να μην ταξιδέψεις στην Κρήτη; Βράδια στα Χανιά να περπατάς στα πλακόστρωτα κάτω από τις βουκαμβίλιες, να οδηγείς το καταμεσήμερο στα βουνά με την ήλιο κάθετο και το άνυδρο τοπίο της Νότιας Κρήτης να σε κοιτάει αυστηρά. Βοσκαρουδάκι αμούστακο στα όρη που γυρίζεις. Η δωρικότητα και ο πόνος που ακόμα στάζουν οι τοίχοι της Σπιναλόγκας. Μαύρη πεταλούδα. Όσο βαρούν τα σίδερα, βαρούν τα μαύρα ρούχα. Η μουσική σαν αέρας που σε ταξιδεύει πετώντας μεσα απο τα στενά. Πάνω στην ουρά του αλόγου. Απομεσήμερα ανάμεσα στα λιόδεντρα, όλοι μου λεν ν’ απαρνηθώ του Λασιθιού το δρόμο, μα εγώ θα πηαίνω να’ ρχομαι για ένα χατήρι μόνο. Φίλοι να σε κερνάνε ρακές βράδυ, Δεκαπενταύγουστο, στην ακροθαλασσιά και μια λύρα να δίνει το ρυθμό κάπου στο βάθος, μια ντουφεκιά ζαχαρωτή από ένα τρανζιστοράκι που να λέει «Δεύτερο Πρόγραμμα της Ελληνικής Ραδιοφωνίας, ο Κώστας από Μελβούρνη αφιερώνει σε όλους τους συγχωριανούς του» και να σε φτάνει στην άκρη του κόσμου. Και να λες, τι είναι η Ελλάδα; Η απεραντοσύνη της που ταξιδεύει πάνω από πολιτείες και πελάγη και απλώνεται σ΄ όλη τη Γη. Μέχρι το χάραμα. Μέχρι να φύγουμε πάλι. Για δρόμους που δε θέλησα, στις χαραυγές ξεχνιέμαι.

    Οσο κλισέ κι αν ακούγεται, η μουσική παράδοση παραμένει ζωντανή. Εξελίσσεται, αναπτύσσεται και ευημερεί, τζαμάροντας με ντραμς κι ηλεκτρικές κιθάρες μεταφέροντας το χτες στο σήμερα και το σήμερα στο αύριο. Δεξιοτεχνία στο κλαρίνο και την τσαμπούνα και μαλλί ράστα και εκρηκτικό hard rock λαούτο με μπόλικο headbanging. Το κοινό να παραληρεί. Οι μουσικοί έβαλαν μέσα την ψυχή τους και ευλόγησαν την παντρειά του παλιού με το ροκ του μέλλοντός μας. Λοιπόν ναι, την παράδοση την έχουμε ήδη πακετάρει σε καινούργιες φρεσκοαγορασμένες βαλίτσες και την παίρνουμε μαζί μας, με προορισμό το 2100 και ακόμα παραπέρα.

    Και τι να πρωτοπείς για τον πρωταγωνιστή της βραδιάς; Ηλεκτρική ενέργεια, μεταδοτικότητα, παλμός ξεσηκωτικός; Αυτά είναι σήμα κατατεθέν Χαρούλη, κινδυνεύω και πάλι να γίνω κλισέ... Θα κρατήσω τρια, λιγότερο προφανή αλλά πολύ σημαντικά, χαρακτηριστικά: μια αν δεν πω συστολή, θα πω σεμνότητα και λιτότητα, στα λόγια, στις εκφράσεις, στην όλη παρουσία. Τον τιμά αφάνταστα μπροστά σε ένα κοινο που πάλλεται και σείεται εξαιτίας του. Τον τιμά ακόμα περισσότερο στην εποχή της ακατάσχετης λογοδιάρροιας και πολιτικολογίας των πάντων επί παντός, στην εποχή που όλοι θα πουν την άποψή τους ακόμα και αν δεν είναι και πολύ σίγουροι για το πως τη σχημάτισαν, ακόμα κι αν ο χώρος είναι μια μουσική συναυλία. Ο Χαρούλης εκφράστηκε μέσα από τα τραγούδια. Άλλωστε, ποιό πολιτικό σχόλιο θα ήταν ποτέ πιο οξυδερκές και γεμάτο νόημα από τα «Μαλαματένια Λόγια»; Κρατάω επίσης το συναίσθημα, την αναφορά του στους γονείς του, «το Μανωλιό και το Λενιώ»,  «μακριά από το νησί μου κι από κείνη π’ αγαπώ» και το μεταδοτικό του χαμόγελο που φαντάζει τόσο πηγαίο. Η πορεία του ως τώρα με κάνει να πιστεύω ακράδαντα οτι αυτή η μετριοφροσύνη θα συνεχίσει να τον συνοδεύει. Εύχομαι και το χαμόγελο.

    Χτες βράδυ, το εσωτερικό μου ημερολόγιο έδειξε Άνοιξη. Ο παλμός αυτής της συναυλίας  ήταν η αρχή της Άνοιξης και ο προάγγελος ενός ακόμα Μεγάλου Ελληνικού Καλοκαιριού που με το καλό θα ακολουθήσει. Θα έπρεπε ίσως να κλείσω με κάποια βαρύγδουπη, ίσως κάπως θολή έκφραση αλλά η πολύ καλώς εννοούμενη λαϊκότητα, απλότητα και νεανικότητα της χτεσινής βραδιάς δε θα μου το επέτρεπε. Δίνουμε ραντεβού με το Γιάννη και την παρέα του για κάποια φεγγαρολουσμένο καλοκαιρινό βράδυ σε κάποια γωνιά της Ελλάδας. Μέχρι τότε, «Τραγούδα λεύτερη καρδιά, με το ριζίτη τρόπο, αίμα είναι το τραγούδι σου στσι φλέβες των ανθρώπω».

12 and Many More Years a Slave

    “We were told we would be paid at one o’clock. Then they told us we should come by later, at five and then finally they told us to go as another group would work and not us. Then three guys started shooting straight at us, injuring about 20.” The date was 17^th April 2013. The place was the village of Manolada, on the western coast of the Peloponnese, Greece. And the statement made by Liedou, a Bangladeshi worker at the strawberry plantations. A few hours ago, him and his colleagues had been demanding their unpaid wages, only to be answered with gunshots and bullets of their “superintendents” in return.

    This flashed through my mind while listening to director Steve McQueen’s acceptance speech at the Academy Awards two weeks ago: “Everyone deserves not just to survive, but to live. This is the most important legacy of Solomon Northup. I dedicate this award to all the people who have endured slavery, and the 21 million people who still suffer slavery today.” The film, to my opinion, deserved all awards, nominations and honors received. It deserved them artistically, but it also deserved them symbolically and historically.

    One of the features of the film that most struck me was of course its impressive direction. Steve McQueen managed to give a different perspective to well-known narratives and themes. For example, American South steamboats we are all familiar with. They appear in many other films as leisure and travel means and pleasant tourist attractions; from one of the first Mickey Mouse movies, “Steamboat Willie”, to “Gone with the Wind” and “Maverick”, steamboats usually appear with positive connotations. Not this time. Steve McQueen moves the camera under the paddle wheels; the turning of the wheels paddling the river comes across as an imminent death threat. McQueen faces the symbols of the American South with crudeness and naturalism. He tells us the truth about what lied beneath the steamboats, the mansions, the belles and the oak trees.

    Complementary to the direction is the amazing cinematography of Sean Bobbitt. Weeping willows sagging over musty rivers, emblazoned sunsets, the blazing heat in the mottled white cotton plantations: the images of the American South are breathtakingly beautiful. But the more beautiful they get, the more dire becomes their contrast to the cruelty, the sadism, the brutality, the oppression of man by man. The images are powerful as much as the emotions they depict.

    At times, the images become so powerful they overwhelm you. It certainly is not the first slavery-themed movie; similar stories from various parts of the globe have been told, from “The Colour Purple” to “A Dry White Season” to “Amistad” and from “Uncle Tom’s Cabin” to “Huckleberry Finn”. But in “12 Years a Slave” the acidity, the pungency of the scenes made me involuntarily identify with the white man and his guilty conscience. The story of Manolada came to mind: even as we speak, in 2014, in my home-country Greece, can we really have the moral ground to complain about the miseries of the economic crisis when 21 million people in this world are slaves? When people of a different race are being treated as slaves even inside our own limited territory? Taking a sip from my glass of wine while watching all this misery seemed to me an act of disrespect to the suffering of all enslaved people, and I am sure I was not the only one. This is Steve McQueen’s success.

   The movie, based on a true story, highlights another facet of the social position of African Americans in the 19^th century: Solomon Northup was a free man working as an artist, an entertainer. Although the movie tends to idealize his social position as a free man, and rightly does so in order to emphasize the contrast to his later misfortunes, reality must have been somewhat different: as Professor Jan Nederveen Pieterse of USCB puts it “After emancipation, […] trade unions throughout the United States barred black people from skilled trades - the very trades they had performed during slavery. The few occupations open to black people were servant, entertainer or unskilled worker, resulting in common and enduring American images of black people as servants, porters, busboys, doormen, waiters or bartenders.”

    But what is even more disturbing is that such social stigmas have managed to find their way into today’s society. Even if nowadays we would probably achieve a consensus in considering a movie like “The Jazz Singer” as politically incorrect, the infamous practice of “Blackface” did not become extinct after the beginning of the 20^th century. Traditions such as Zwarte Piet or Black Piet still go strong in the Western hemisphere, in countries such as Belgium and the Netherlands. Notwithstanding a massive attempt by the Dutch society in the last few decades to convince kids and the rest of the world that Black Piet is not really black, but just dirty because he arrives through the chimney, one closer look at Dutch popular children songs makes it harder to convince us: “Want al ben ik zwart als roet,/'k Meen het toch goed” (“For even though I am black as soot/I have good intentions.”)

    Slavery and racial discrimination, as mentioned already, are not a novel artistic theme. Many will rush to label “12 Years a Slave” as “another slavery-themed movie.” I, from my side, hope that slavery-themed movies, books and all kinds of artistic products shall never cease to be made. As is the case for the Holocaust and WWII, our society has not yet overcome its traumas. We appear not to have grasped the lesson fully, not yet. So, until that day, let us welcome this constant reminder of what we did and what we suffered, let us watch in silence what it feels like to be the perpetrator or the victim. Lest we forget.

Photographer YANNIS BEHRAKIS, Greece

“I first heard about Hassan Mekki from the Athens office of an international NGO at the end of November. Soon after I saw an amateur photograph of his back on Facebook - I was shocked! It took me a week to find the right persons and contacts, and finally through his lawyer in the Greek council for refugees I found him. He was very scared and desperate. He was also hiding. His lawyer told him that he should trust me and he should tell me his story if he wants to be photographed by me. The scars on his back, head and throat resembled those of slaves of the 18th and 19th century.” 

via http://blogs.reuters.com/fullfocus/2012/11/30/best-photos-of-the-year-2012/#a=96  

Berlinale of Randomness

 

© Angeliki Tsapatsari

 

© Angeliki Tsapatsari

 

© Angeliki Tsapatsari

 

© Angeliki Tsapatsari

© Angeliki Tsapatsari

© Angeliki Tsapatsari

                                                                 © Angeliki Tsapatsari

Memorial to the Murdered Jews of Europe

© Angeliki Tsapatsari

 © Angeliki Tsapatsari

 © Angeliki Tsapatsari

                                                                 © Angeliki Tsapatsari

To ze Germans with Liebe

© Angeliki Tsapatsari

Der Himmel über Berlin

© Angeliki Tsapatsari

Kultur macht frei

    What is a “guilty pleasure”? We read on Wikipedia that a guilty pleasure is something one enjoys and considers pleasurable despite feeling guilt for enjoying it. When it comes to art and tastes, then, why should anyone feel guilt? Calories are not involved, and guilt cannot be associated with any wrongdoing towards other human beings in this context. If it gives you pleasure, why should it make you feel guilty? And why should you feel so exposed and insecure admitting that you really enjoy something you consider low quality? Two articles I read recently made me ponder on these questions and the possible answers to them.

    The acclaimed Greek journalist and author Alexandra Tsolka has dedicated one of her past articles on the tendency of imposing “good taste” and sneering at what we think is bad taste, commenting on the participation of Greece in the Eurovision song contest and the outcry it usually causes among local “cultural elites”. In her article, she comments on the aphorisms of the “cultural elite” towards categories of people that happen to enjoy the lightness and kitsch of the Eurovision song contest or Hollywood production musicals, by labelling them as “superficial” and “ridiculous”. The so-called “cultural elite” often launches Spanish Inquisition-like assaults on everything that is happy, colourful, youthful and gay, by any means of the term. She goes on to provide a historical and social comment on such behaviours: “In societies in crisis, like the Greek one right now, the sullen Robespierres and defenders of Stalin and Goebbels shall prevail; people that excommunicate other means of expression that don’t match their taste. In these societies, anything diverse, even if it’s just a whisper, is dangerous. It’s just an excuse for them to insult and feel superior to others that enjoy listening to ABBA, Celine Dion, Johnny Logan or Domenico Modugno.” She concludes by reminding us that times change: “The ones who label music should bear in mind that cultural elites through the ages where with the side of Salieri and not Mozart, with the Beach Boys and not with the blues that, at the time, were considered underground music for poor and marginalized.”

    Indeed, times change. These are times of multiculturalism. On Wikipedia, we read:  “Multiculturalism is seen by its supporters as a fairer system that allows people to truly express who they are within a society, that is more tolerant and that adapts better to social issues. They argue that culture is not one definable thing based on one race or religion, but rather the result of multiple factors that change as the world changes.” In an ever-changing world, where different cultures co-exist and can be found as close as the office next to yours or the flat opposite yours, how can it be explained that there still are people that condemn and aphorize the cultural and artistic tastes of others?

    This kind of unflinching dedication to “good taste”, where every exception is a sin, and the need to indoctrinate all “infidels” to its mysteries or else spiritually pelt them, is akin to another kind of fanaticism, I am sure many members of a “cultural elite” would abhor: religious fanaticism. I have seen fanatically secular people living under the influence of these remains of religious guilt, where the God of Good Taste ordains and they have to obey. I have seen young people apologizing  for having danced to or sung bubble-gum-pop music, because for a moment they chose not to listen to their favourite alternative rock band and decided to have some light-hearted, light-themed fun for a change. I have seen people vehemently renouncing soap operas in public, but then stealthily enjoying them on their couch.  In these cases, superficiality is usually punishable with one week of self-flagellation and non-stop listening to death, loss and social isolation-themed music.

    To be fair, one should undoubtedly recognize the hard work of all people that get involved in the Arts, either professionally or as amateurs. One should admire the countless hours that art-lovers and artists spend and all the toil and effort towards achieving their goals, be it a piece of music, a sculpture, a movie or a painting. I’ve been there: several years of amateur involvement in Arts as demanding as e.g. classical ballet have taught me that nothing is achieved without persistence, hard work but, above all, belief in what you are doing and its artistic value.

    And it’s maybe the awareness of this artistic value that slightly or largely blinds people to a very important distinction: work is work and fun is fun. Even if a piece of art seems to us “easy” to produce, we should never forget that man-hours of work are behind it as well. And we should not forget, that after work, comes the fun. Important works of art are characterized by the fact that they can search into the depths of our existence and make us think. But don’t we need a break from all the soul-searching? Isn’t it getting too dark some times? What about then? As Alexandra Tsolka puts it in her article, are we expected to wake up in the weekend mornings and kick off our day with some Béla Bartók?

    I recently read another opinion reinforcing the work/fun distinction. A question was posted on the column of a popular Greek blogger and columnist, submitted by a young musician, to the following extent: after the description of her studies and qualifications in music, she asked whether there is a generally accepted definition of aesthetics or this definition is subjective.  The reader gave an example asking “can we consider Bach and Miley Cyrus as equals just because certain categories of people listen to them?”, stating that she gets upset when people reply that “it’s a matter of taste”. The musician also quotes her father as her source of inspiration, whose answer to that particular question is “let the people have their fun.” The answer the columnist gives I found particularly telling: there are and there have been people much more qualified than us here that have given answers to these general, philosophical questions so maybe we should try to keep a lower profile regarding our studies and qualifications. The responsibility of the young musician is not towards the “people” but towards music itself. So, we should let people have their fun even if we might not like it. Nobody wants Crusaders and martyrs of “good taste”. And, may I add, as the Monty Python have succinctly put it, nobody expects the Spanish Inquisition!

    But some will object: what if I can’t have fun with pop music? What if I can’t relax and enjoy myself with rom-coms? The answer is simple: live and let live. My right to abhor David Lynch is equal to your right to abhor Britney Spears. It doesn’t make you or me an inferior person or even a person with inferior tastes. Oscar Wilde in “The Soul of Man Under Socialism” says: “Art is the most intense mode of individualism that the world has known.” Aristophanes puts it even more laconically: “Let each man exercise the art he knows”.

   Very common is also the tendency to automatically label anything commercially successful as an artistic product for the “masses.” Why so much eagerness to distinguish ourselves and self-elevate to the Pantheon of the “cultured people”? And if it is that we hate anything commercially successful, can we then sincerely believe that we respect humankind? As Leo Tolstoy puts it in his essay “What is Art?”: “Art […] is a means of union among men, joining them together in the same feelings, and indispensable for the life and progress toward well-being of individuals and of humanity.” I am not saying here that commercial success is synonymous of “good taste” or high artistic value. As Immanuel Kant was saying, “good taste cannot be found in any standards or generalizations, and the validity of a judgement is not the general view of the majority or some specific social group. Taste is both personal and beyond reasoning, and therefore disputing over matters of taste never reaches any universality.” Montesquieu summarized this argument very well: “Art provides the rules and taste the exceptions.”

    As is obvious, many great thinkers have given us answers on what constitutes Art, Good Taste and Aesthetics but of course no general consensus exists. Let’s use this as a reminder next time we feel the tendency to berate a person or an artistic product as culturally inferior and let’s try to be as respectful as possible. Nietzsche said that: “We possess art lest we perish of the truth.” Art is an escape route from our levelling reality; choose your own and let others ramble freely on theirs.