AK 12 FREE
02 WORD FOR THE HERD
"I
PUBLISHER
AK Publishing SAL
EDITOR-IN-CHIEF Tres Colacion
should like to see any power of the world destroy this race, this small tribe of unimportant people, whose wars have all been fought and lost, whose structures have crumbled, literature is unread, music is unheard, and prayers are no more answered. Go ahead, destroy Armenia . See if you can do it. Send them into the desert without bread or water. Burn their homes and churches. Then see if they will not laugh, sing and pray again. For when two of them meet anywhere in the world, see if they will not create a New Armenia.� - William Saroyan
CREATIVE DIRECTOR
1oo years and counting. Still singing. Still laughing. Still bleeding. -Tres
COMIC
Ali El Sayed
CHIEF SUB-EDITOR Livia Caruso
WRITERS
Jackson Allers Natalie Shooter Talar Demirdjian Baruir Panossian
Gab Ferneine
PHOTOGRAPHY: Roland Ragi
CONTACT
Got something to say? Write us at Junkmail@audiokultur.com Life is a pitch, but at least we want to pay you for it. Send your pitches to Editor@audiokultur.com Want a fresh shipment of Audio Kultur every month to your fine establishment? TheGuy@AudioKultur.com All advertising inquiries go to SellOut@AudioKultur.com audiokultur.com facebook.com/audiokultur issuu.com/audiokultur
TABLE OF CONTENTS 03
04. FEATURE:
THE RESILIENT RESISTANCE
06. FEATURE:
MUSICAL ARCHAEOLOGY
18. FEATURE:
THE CITY NEXT DOOR
16. TUNEAGE
24. FILM
34. DAS KOMIC
26. TITERNIG:
BORN AGAIN
04 FEATURE
THE RESILIENT RESISTANCE Behind Anjar, one of the Bekaa Valley’s sleepy villages and home to the biggest population of Armenians outside Beirut, lies a spirited resistance By: Natalie Shooter Photos by: Roland Ragi
FEATURE 05
A
wide tree-lined road cuts through the middle of Anjar, leading to the Armenian Apostolic St. Paul Church in the midst of a luscious green garden and neatly trimmed hedges. The only sound in the village is the songs of birds, as the sun shines down relentlessly from a clear blue sky. With its well-kept houses, neat gardens and pristine cars parked outside, this could well be suburban California, though the idyllic bubble of Anjar in the heart of the Bekaa Valley lies only 3km from the Syrian border.
The village, also known as Haoush Mousa, is almost entirely populated by Armenians who arrived as refugees in 1939 from Musa Dagh (Musa Ler in Armenian). But as one of the sites of the Armenian resistance, the region’s history isn’t one marked by sadness. When the Ottoman Turkish forces came to deport Armenians from six villages – after which Anjar’s six districts are named – they fled to the highest mountain and fought back in a battle that lasted 45 days, until they were rescued by French battleships. After four years in Port Said, they returned to their homeland, finding their villages destroyed, and stayed until 1939 when a French-Turkish treaty gave the area over to the Turks. They then began to leave, reaching Lebanon’s Anjar via Syria. “Welcome to Anjar”, says Vanig Apelian, a volunteer for the Tashnag Party, the main Armenian political party in Lebanon, as she gets out of her 4x4. “It’s very calm here. I couldn’t live in Beirut”, she says, leading the way through the memorial monument, where the ashes of 18 martyrs of the resistance are kept. “Unlike most Armenians here, my father came from Kessab. He studied at the village boarding school in Anjar and stayed. I’ve been to Western Armenia. It’s such a beautiful region, but it’s so sad to go back and see the churches which have been turned into stables for farm animals.” Apelian’s father, George James Apelian, was a renowned author. His novels, which have been published in numerous languages, tell the stories of Armenian families separated during the genocide and the culture of the Armenian people.
Anjar has three churches and schools, Catholic, Evangelical and Orthodox. Next to the village’s Catholic school a nun sits in a garden, transfixed on a piece of embroidery she’s working on. Another nun, Sister Theopiste Marie Bedrossian joins, stopping in front of a tree in full blossom. “Look at these flowers. Aren’t they beautiful?” she says. The 81-year-old was just five years old when she made the journey to Anjar from Musa Dagh with her family. “There was nothing here. Not one green tree. The Anjar of the 2000s is the result of the good will of the Armenians”, she says, sitting down in a stark lounge, a wooden cross hanging from its walls. Sister Theopiste has had an illustrative career serving the church around the world. “I became a nun in my 20s because I wanted to stop people suffering”, she says. She’s worked in Rome, Tehran, Manhattan and Sao Paolo, spent 15 years as a principal at the Armenian Hripsimyants Catholic school in Fanar, Beirut, and helped Armenians after the earthquake of ‘88. “Azanor wrote a song about it ‘Pour toi Armenie’ (For you Armenia)”, she says. She returned to Anjar in 2012 to become the principal of the village’s Catholic school, which was at risk of closing. She’s an educated woman who despite her 81 years has an active mind. Her voice sparks with enthusiasm on the subject of poetry. “It’s the expression of the soul, the heart of the human being”, she says, sharing her love of Shakespeare and Dante. “We hope Turkey will recognize the genocide of Armenia. They have to make justice”, she says.
06 FEATURE
“She’s an amazing woman with so many stories,” Apelian says, getting back into the car. We pass one of the few remaining original houses that the French built – a basic concrete structure with one bathroom and one living room. Outside in the overgrown garden, an old stone wheat press still stands. Nearby, a graffiti tag that can be seen all over the village stands as a reminder, “Turkey guilty of genocide”. We speed through the small village reaching its perimeter, surrounded by orchards of fruit trees from which, along with other agriculture, the village’s main economy rests on. We slow down to take in the two grand hotels of the village, “We used to get lots of tourists from Syria. But these days there are not many”, Apelian says. Later at the City Hall, Garo Pamboukian, Anjar’s mayor, points to an old black and white photograph on the wall of his office, showing the village’s first Municipal Council in the 1940s. A group of suited men stare seriously into the camera; one man takes a James Dean pose with a cigarette hanging from his lip. “A friend of mine, the grandchild of Noubar Boghigian came to visit from the United States. His grandfather used to man the semi-automatic phone lines. At the exact moment we were looking at the photograph of
his grandfather, he passed away in the US”, he says. Pamboukian sits behind a huge desk in a casual suit with an almost regal salt and pepper moustache. He draws on a cigarette and breathes out a cloud of smoke which lingers in the air above. He flicks through some old black and white photographs on his laptop, showing a blanket of white tents across a barren landscape from when the Armenian refugees first settled in Anjar. The hill they chose to settle on turned out to hide Anjar’s ancient ruins below. “My grandfather participated in the resistance of Musa Dagh. Thank God he survived”, Pamboukian says. “The Armenians refused to leave their motherland, they resisted for 45 days. That’s the difference between us and other Armenians. We were not massacred. We had heroes who resisted”. He talks of the swamps and wetlands when they first arrived, resulting in the deaths of 950 people from malaria and typhoid. “When our relatives came to Anjar in 1939 the climate was tough. At that time there were only 3000 trees, now 75 years later we have more than seven million trees and plants. That is the character of the Armenians”. Besides joining in the 100-year commemoration
since the genocide, in Anjar they also have their own celebration every 15 September, to mark the resistance of Musa Dagh. These days the population of Anjar faces a crisis of a different kind. With its close proximity to the Syrian border, the effects of the war have been clearly felt. At the main gate to Lebanon from Syria, 1000s of refugees fleeing the regime have passed through Anjar. We have around 3000 Syrian refugees close by, while Armenian refugees have settled in Anjar from all regions of Syria. “The Syrian crisis has had a big effect on our economy. Before we had tourists, now we have zero. There are no work opportunities for our youth”, he says. Despite the community’s ongoing difficulties, the defiant nature of Anjar’s population remains. “We are here and we will stay here. We have our history, our culture, our character. If we have any crisis, do we go? No,” he says his arms moving animatedly. “There’s an expression we say; a tribute to the resistance. ‘We are still standing on the mountain, awaiting our enemy.’ We don’t know which kind of enemy”, he laughs, “because we have many enemies. But we are waiting”. Later in a peaceful residential area of Anjar, we reach
FEATURE 07
the house of Sarkis Aintablian. He sits on the edge of the sofa, clutching prayer beads. Born in Musa Dagh, Aintablian was six years old when he left to Anjar. “When we first came here we had nothing – no belongings, no land”, he says. His parents started growing vegetables, which Aintablian continues to this day. “I work a lot. I enjoy working and Anjar is very dear to me. We’re close to each other here. We’ve stayed as Armenians”. Nearby is the well-furnished home of Jaqueline and Levon Chamasian, with a beautiful view over Anjar, the snow-topped mountains behind Zahle visible in the distance. 92-year-old Levon spent 35 years working for Iraq Petroleum and returned to Anjar upon retiring. His father was a comb maker – one of the original handicrafts the first Armenians in Anjar took up in the ‘4 0s. “We didn’t want to live under the Turks so in 1939 we left. There was nothing. Anjar didn’t exist”, he says. “Little by little we turned this desert into a paradise”. “My first wife was killed by a cannon shell in the war, so I found myself another angel,” he says looking over to his wife, a Beirut-born Armenian. “You see how beautiful and peaceful it is here”? Levon continues.
“We have the most beautiful scenery and a strong community spirit”. He speaks of the recent rumors that Da‘ish would come to Anjar and the 3000 people who gathered from the village and Beirut to defend them. “After that they never came”, he says, before dictating a poem by French poet Malherbe, which he’s remembered almost 80 years since his school days. Later on, as the sun begins to drop over the village’s impressive ruins – the Umayyad City of Anjar, built in the 8th century as a summer resort – the long shadows seem to highlight its emptiness. Only one couple wanders around. Nevertheless, Shams, the city’s main restaurant, is almost full with people smoking narguileh and enjoying huge spreads of Armenian and Lebanese mezze. Serge Maloukian, a young waiter in the restaurant, arrived to Anjar three years ago from Kassab. His father was born in Anjar and his mother is from the Syrian port city, Latakia. “We have a small restaurant in Kassab, but with the war it’s not working anymore”, he says. “I studied travel and tourism but came here because there is no work in Syria”. The stories of the people of Anjar are a reminder of the Armenian community’s resilience. A banner that
hangs outside the entrance of Anjar’s ruins with a quote by the Armenian-American author William Saroyan certainly rings true: “Go ahead, destroy Armenia. See if you can do it. Send them into the desert without bread or water. Burn their homes and churches. Then see if they will not laugh, sing and pray again. For when two of them meet anywhere in the world, see if they will not create a new Armenia.”
08 FEATURE
MUSICAL ARCHAEOLOGY BY: By Jackson Allers
FEATURE 09
When music is taken from a culture, there is little way to recall that cultural remnant once it's purveyors are gone. I'm reminded of Ros Sereysothea, Sinn Sasamouth, Pan Ron, and Maes Samouen - the main voices of the Khmer rock sound that flourished in Cambodia during the Vietnam War.
A
fter a whirlwind tour of the Middle East (Kuwait, Lebanon, Jordan) in February, Los Angelesbased Lebanese-Armenian multi-genre music producer Baruir Panossian, aka Bei Ru, sat down with Audio Kultur's Jackson Allers to discuss the legacy of his own music, whether he's the 21st century equivalent of Alan Lomax, and whether what he produces is a form of musical resistance, particularly at a time when Armenians around the world prepare to commemorate the 100th anniversary of the start of the Armenian Genocide.
Killed alongside nearly two million of their compatriots during leader Pol Pot's genocidal attempt at total extermination of anyone he felt stood in the way of the agrarian utopia he had envisioned (19751979) - the death of these singers represented the culling of nearly all of Cambodia's musical artists and intellectuals during that time period. Despite Pot's best efforts, however, Khmer rock withstood complete eradication via the cassette tapes that were the remnants of their ad hoc recording sessions - usually one-take live sessions that showcased the influences of Western music broadcasted from US Armed Forces radio; surfer guitar riffs, psychedelic feats of distortion, tight horn sections, tied together with unique Cambodian melodies that oozed from the voices of Cambodian stars like Ros and Sinn Sisamouth.
multi-genre music production scene and himself a descendant of the Armenian Genocide, it digs deep into his artistic innards. His first album, Little Armenia, was self-released in 2010 (Musa Ler Records) and was created almost entirely from samples of rare Armenian music, some of it produced in the early 1970s with a sound and feel that was every bit as radical and funky as Khmer rock. "I look at what I'm doing as a form of cultural resistance," he tells me from his apartment in Los Angeles, "I really felt that taking little bits and pieces of music from my culture that has largely been forgotten by people in general let alone people from my own culture - is one of the best ways to preserve what's been passed down from generation to generation."
Still, the human elements these artists represented, and the evolution of a Cambodian music scene which they could have helped develop, will tragically never be known because of their deaths.
Baruir, known as Bei Ru to his growing worldwide fan base, is the son of ethnic Armenian parents from Lebanon who grew up primarily in the LA-suburb of San Fernando Valley. I interviewed him via Skype one month ahead of the 100th commemoration of the Armenian Genocide, which, for most Armenians in the Diaspora, is a heavy subject. So heavy, in fact, that it is a topic we'd managed to avoid during a 2-week tour of the Middle East in February 2015 which I documented as part of the regional debut for his second album release, Saturday Night at the Magic Lamp (Backside Records/Musa Ler Records, 2014).
When I bring up the idea of cultural loss like this with Baruir Panossian, a respected member of LA's
We did spend time talking about our ethnic heritage and growing up Armenian in the United States after
10 FEATURE
he learned that I too was the descendent of a genocide survivor. But unlike Bei Ru, who still had family in Lebanon and Armenia that he has visited over the years and are those with direct connections to the Genocide, my Armenian family in Iraq had left by the late 1970s and I had no family in Armenia. My own direct connection to the Genocide, my mother's father - Garabed Melik-Keramian, or Garo, as his family and friends in our small Texas community of Armenians called him, made his way to Baghdad as a child refugee - the only survivor of 7 siblings massacred in his family home by Turkish soldiers in the Keram province in Eastern Anatolia. His was a story told more through the lens of others. He rarely talked to his grandchildren about his experiences during the Genocide. I lost that fountainhead of knowledge when I was 12 years old, and the memories over the years that I associated most with my grandfather after his death came in the form of songs that triggered movements back in time - Armenian records that he’d play during parties or cassettes that he’d put into the component stereo system and be so proud of in the late 1970s. And that was something both Bei Ru and I had in common: the use of song to trigger memories, though it wasn't something he and I explicitly discussed. Rather, I felt it more through the study of his music. With his first album, Little Armenia, Bei Ru wasn't just mapping the music that he had heard growing up in his
family home, such as Armenian priest, musicologist and composer Komitas' early 20th century song "Der Voghormia" ("Lord Have Mercy"), from his Divine Liturgy, and music by ubiquitous - at least in Armenian households - turbo pop singers Harout Pamboukjian and Adiss Harmandian. Rather, with Little Armenia, he was mapping out a sort of run-through of Armenian recording history the likes of which had never been done before. The bedrock of Bei Ru's production sensibility was sample culture - made possible through years of cratedigging in Los Angeles, and during trips to the Middle East - rifling through bins in dusty thrift stores, back alley antique stores, and public markets - for rare and out of print Armenian records to sample alongside the funk, rock and soul records that formed the musical roots to Bei Ru's other big musical influence in LA - hip hop. "When I started finding these Armenian records that were damn near forgotten, it instilled me with a sense of just how much I wanted people to be aware of this music and to share it. To be the person that happens to be able to expose other people to the things - the music - that I was exposed to, I think is a beautiful thing," he said. A sort of self-styled ethnic-revivalist of the neo-Alan Lomax variety, Bei Ru's own musical discoveries of rare Armenian musical acts from the Diaspora he said were like a "cultural map" that told him "how far the Armenian Diaspora had gotten" - with much of this
Diaspora flung to the far reaches of the world because of the Genocide. According to Bei Ru, unearthing vinyl with Armenian musicians from Iran, that were released before the Iranian Revolution, or from Armenian musicians from Latin America - Uruguay, Argentina - or closer afield in Syria, Lebanon and Armenia itself, has helped him see an evolving Armenian musical identity forged with "the sounds and instruments from their surroundings" and so, he says, "we find this beautiful fusion of Armenian music as a result." "I feel like if more people were exposed to the same type of Armenian music that I began finding in my travels then they would similarly be blown away and take steps to discover this music more. And not just young Armenians! I think it could lead to a whole preservation movement." As he began to amass a buzz on the independent music circuit in LA through a series of residences and appearances at tastemaker spots like Dublab.com, Bei Ru caught the attention of LA-based production company Mochilla, and in 2010 they co-released a mix of late 1960s to late 1970s Armenian songs that he cherry-picked from his vinyl excursions - music that made it into Little Armenia and that he said represented one of the "most fruitful" and experimental periods "in modern popular Armenian music history." As he explained during our interview, "I know there are a lot of these musicians still out there that I've
FEATURE 11
discovered. And a lot of them aren't aware that what they did 30 or 40 years ago is even still being listened to or relevant." Bei Ru relayed a story of connecting with one of the sons of the French progressive-rock group Zartong. "Zartong - which means rebirth in Armenian - were these four French Armenian dudes - and they made this album in 1979 that was only released in France. I remember the first time I saw it. That's a great example of 'Holy shit, I can't believe something like this was actually done!' It's this combination of Armenian folk-music, with electronica and progressive rock arrangements. It was a beautiful combination. So it's those kind of jewels that I find sometimes - and I really want other people to hear them. For me, it becomes a matter of musical archeology really." For his 2014 sophomore release Saturday Night at the Magic Lamp, Bei Ru crafted a concept album that showed a clear maturity in production when compared to Little Armenia - more based on live production elements (electric oud, guitar, bass, keyboards and piano) that is marriage to sampling, adding to his live show the possibility of morphing into different backline configurations. The album concept stems from a record sample of an Armenian bandleader welcoming guests to a place called "the Magic Lamp" - which Bei Ru then turned into a mythical venue - a secretive place that resides somewhere in between reality and Baruir's imagination. It took him three years to produce the
18-track LP, whittled down from some 100 songs that he had composed as possible entries on the album.
deny the Genocide, and thus his own family's history of survival as a result?
Burbank-based Backside records began distributing Saturday CDs in 2014, noting the much more MiddleEastern influence of the album – a result of Bei Ru's continuous search for great sounds from the Near East. According to Backside: "The sounds coming out of this record made me feel like I had entered an intimate nightclub in Beirut, Lebanon circa 1968. There are no chairs, only pillows to sit on, there are belly dancers, there is a potent smell of flavored tobacco in the air, a live psychedelic Middle Eastern band performing… and to set the mood off, the light bulbs in the place are purple and dimmed very low."
"It's a very difficult question to answer. I'm here doing music, and I can't help but think certain things or wonder certain things about how a person feels if they’re Turkish," he answered. "I feel it's also important for me to voice my opinion about the Genocide when necessary. I think if you feel a certain way and are educated enough on the topic, then you should not shy away from it just because you don't want to offend someone. But at the end of the day, I'm also not afraid to confront my own history even if it means upsetting the ‘Armenian brand’,” he said.
With a Backside vinyl release in the works, and as he plans more trips to the region in the near future, I wondered if there was a percentage of his growing fan base emanating from Turkey. "It's crazy man. People from all over the world have reached out. It's an incredible feeling that the music can go that far and reach that many people, including a percentage from Turkey," he said. And on the eve of the 100th anniversary of the Genocide, another question loomed: as the grandson of Armenians who were among the 4,200 survivors of the legendary 53-day siege at Musa Dagh ("Mount Moses") near the Mediterranean-Syrian border against Ottoman Turkish forces in 1915, I also wondered if Bei Ru was conflicted by a Turkish fan base that might
Unlike Pol Pot, Armenian music and its musical class not only survived but flourished. And outside of the efforts of the metal group System of a Down, there's certainly no one out there helping to bolster the Armenian brand musically more than Bei Ru.
12 FEATURE
THE CITY NEXT DOOR By: Natalie Shooter Photos by: Roland Ragi
FEATURE 13
B
ourj Hammoud first started out as a camp when survivors of the 1915 Armenian Genocide arrived to Lebanon and created shacks on the wasteland to the east of the Beirut river. Over the years, however, it’s evolved into a city on the edge of a city; hidden within its narrow maze-like streets – named after Armenian cities – are the workshops of craftsmen, cultural centers, shops, food markets and restaurants. With Beirut Central District’s post civil war transformation into an exclusive center for the elite, the humble Downtown of the past with its hustle and bustle has essentially been relocated to Bourj Hammoud.
Arpi Mangassarian is head of the Technical and Urban Planning Office of Bourj Hammoud Municipality and is behind the cultural center and restaurant, Badgeur (01 240214, Pink Building, Der Melkonian Street) that has become a hub for the Armenian community. She’s an advocate for preserving the heritage of Armenian culture and reviving its traditions. “[Armenians] transformed Bourj Hammoud over three decades from a camp into a city with all the capacities and facilities. The unique thing about this area is that it’s compact with a mix of functions. It’s very dynamic. We are in the capital not on the boundary; we became part of Beirut.” The area first flourished with leather and fabric craftsmen and sellers, but later, during the civil war, Armenian jewel traders and craftsmen who had previously been based in downtown Beirut migrated to Bourj Hammoud and thus the sector developed. “Bourj Hammoud has transformed into an artisanal hub where all the craftsmen are based,” Mangassarian says. “With the spread of globalization and Chinesemade products, the craftsmen are struggling but they still continue. You can find hundreds of workshops nestled everywhere. This is what makes the charm and vitality of Bourj Hammoud.”
THE LEATHER CRAFTSMAN An unassuming building on a backstreet in Bourj Hammoud is where 76-year-old master leather craftsman, Garo Panoukian, lives and works. Sunlight sneaks through the barred window from the street, lighting up Panoukian’s work desk; the space is piled high with the evidence of a 60-year-long career, from rolls of different leathers – frog, lizard, crocodile and cow – to ancient machines and tools. “The real craft used to be in Downtown but with the war everything moved here,” he says. “Now people come from everywhere to Bourj Hammoud to trade.” Panoukian, whose clients have included the Phoenicia Hotel and the boutiques of Downtown’s former Souq al-Tawileh, makes everything from Dupont lighter covers to wallets and menu covers. “Before the war, whatever leather items you found in the market were mine,” he says proudly. “These days people buy cheap Chinesemade belts and wallets without knowing that they’re not leather,” he says showing a cheap-looking wallet, which he rips apart from inside with ease. “Recently my nephew brought me a wallet to see if I could repair it. I asked him if he knew how old it was. In fact, I’d made it for his friend 20 years earlier.” 71 034090
THE FISH SELLER Spend a lot of time in Bourj Hammoud and you’ll no doubt run into Ghassan Selehdar, wearing a fishing hat and clutching on to two woven baskets of fish. The 68-year-old from Tripoli comes to the area to sell fish caught in the northern city’s Mina every Wednesday and Saturday. Selling fish since 1963, he has by now become a part of Bourj Hammoud’s landscape. “I love the freedom of fishing,” he grins.
14 FEATURE
THE HEAD COOK THE BRASS MONGER On a street parallel to Der Melkonian is located the brass workshop Ets N.H. Eskidjian. First established in 1948, Noubar Eskidjian joined the family business in 1993. Eskidjian is the ghost brass monger whose work ends up all over the world. Inside his workshop are some of his finished products and casts scattered across the worktables, from brass souvenirs and mini army tanks for the Hezbollah museum, Mleeta, to piles of intricate door handles and wax headphone casts for an art exhibition.
Khodor Hamadi used to help in his father’s legendary sheep head restaurant next to the Lebanese Parliament before they moved to Bourj Hammoud with the advent of the civil war. In 2002 he opened Nifa House and he counts famous Arab pop singers and ministers among his regular customers who come for his sheep heads and cow cheeks. “It’s completely natural. The secret is I steam the sheep’s head for 5-6 hours with no spices or salt,” Hamadi says from over his small counter. On cue, a smart car pulls up outside and the well-dressed formerminister Edmond Risk comes inside and pulls up a seat to settle down at the restaurant’s one plastic table. 03 969822 Mar Yousef Street
03 332345
THE TAILOR THE BAKER
Ask anyone in Bourj Hammoud where to get the best lahme b‘ajine and they’ll point you to Ghazar Bakery. Founded in 1960 by Ghazar Ghazarian, the furn’s original meat breads, cooked in a special old-style stone oven, have been a staple snack of locals for decades. Every day the family-run bakery has a long line of loyal customers who queue in line for the delicacy. 03 254835 Kahwaji Street
78 year-old Noubar Der Kevorkyan has been a tailor for the last 65 years, starting out as an apprentice for his uncle. He worked in West Beirut on Mar Elias Street from 1958-75 before the war brought him to Bourj Hammoud. He sits behind an ancient-looking Singer sewing machine from where he makes suits to order; behind him his handmade suits hang from a rail. “Bourj Hammoud is a calm area. I like it,” he says. Though his three children have long tried to convince him to move to Europe, Bourj Hammoud is where he’ll remain. “I was born here. I love it here and I want to stay,” he says, matter-of-factly. 01 248385 Arax Street Opposite Patisserie Sarkis
FEATURE 15
THE PIPE MAKER On the second floor of an undistinguished building is the workshop of jeweler and diamond setter Peter Khatcherian. Starting his training in interior design, Khatcherian’s daily journey over the border between East and West Beirut to the country’s only interior design school became too challenging during the war, so he retrained as a jeweler. He’s worked within the industry for 36 years, creating custom-made jewelry. Growing up in a “house full of smoke”, Khatcherian inherited the hobby of smoking pipes from his father and is a member of the Pipe Club of Lebanon (pipecluboflebanon.org). After smoking pipes for over 30 years, he decided to experiment making one himself. He now creates pipes on commission. Khatcherian, who grew up in the area, is every bit the Bourj Hammoud native. “I like it because we are used to it,” he says sucking on one of his own wooden pipe creations, and puffing out a cloud of smoke. “Here you can find everything you want. And… you hear every piece of news in Bourj Hammoud before it reaches CNN.” 03 273603 Building 2, 2nd floor Kahwaji Street
THE MEAT CHIEF Located on the main Armenia Street, Basterma Mano has been serving up the Armenian staples basterma (air-dried cured beef) and soujouk (spicy beef sausage) for almost 50 years. Its neon sign acts as a beacon by night drawing in scores of customers for their fast-food fix. 01 268 560 basterma-mano.com
THE RECORD DEALER
THE COLLECTOR
A local legend in Bourj Hammoud, the music-lover known as “King” opened his humble music and DVD shop in ’77 and has built a loyal customer base since. A big progressive rock fan, you can often find King sat around piles of vinyl, from Arabic 45s to rock and jazz lps, with a group of friends watching a live concert DVD, drinking coffee and smoking cigarettes. “It started as a hobby and became a job,” King says. “As for Bourj Hammoud, I like it. I’m used to it.” 01 257723 Trad Street
Facing the dominating concrete Yerevan Bridge that passes over the edge of Bourj Hammoud is The Vintage Shop owned by brothers Avedis and Krekor Der Boghassian. Once working as tailors, the brothers, who have collected vintage items all their lives, eventually decided to turn their passion into a business. “My family all became tailors,” he says. “I quit the tailor business 6 months ago. When you’ve been an employee for 16 years you become a horse, not a horse rider. There comes a time when you have to find yourself, and I found myself in junk.” 03 827715 Yerevan Bridge Street
16 TUNEAGE
TUNAGE JOHN BERBERIAN
RAISA MKRTCHYAN
W
hen it came to picking out some of the top Armenian jams, we knew we couldn’t go anywhere else but to the legendary beat machine that is Bei Ru. The Los Angeles based producer/composer has made a name for himself through his unconventional use of Middle Eastern melodies and riddims, drum samples, electronic quirks, and even a live backing band. He’s an authority on all sounds Armenian and he’s lined up some of his all time favourites for you to rewind.
MIDDLE RAISA EASTERN ROCK MKRTCHYAN VERVE FORECAST МЕЛОДИЯ
ZARTONG
1969
1975
One of the best examples of traditional music blended with rock and jazz influences. Berberian is a legendary oud player from New Jersey, who recorded this album with well-known guitarist Joe Beck who plays electric fuzz guitar, and Chet Amsterdam on Fender Bass. The ensemble plays original compositions by Berberian, as well as cover versions of traditional Armenian melodies. The music ranges from folk, to psychedelic rock. Definitely one of the most adventurous recordings ever produced by an oud player.
She was one of the more prominent jazz/pop vocalists of the '60s and '70s in Armenia. During a trip to Armenia in 2005, I found a record that featured her as a vocalist on a couple of cuts. I was so impressed by her voice and her general funkiness that I sought out more of her work and eventually found a couple of her solo records, my favorite being a self-titled album from 1976, released on the Russian-based Melodiya label. Highly recommended.
A four-piece progressive-rock band based in France during the late 1970s. They released their only album in 1978 under a small, independent French label called Dom. Only a small number of copies were pressed, making it really difficult to find in original form nowadays. I first came across this record through a friend who had it in her parents' old record collection, and I was lucky enough to track down a copy some years later. The music ranges from slow and psychedelic, to up-tempo and percussion-driven, such as featured on the song "Kele Kele" — an epic cover version of the folk tune written by legendary Armenian composer Komitas. Makes you wonder how such an innovative and talented band is still virtually unheard of some 30 years later.
ZARTONG DOM 1979
TUNEAGE 17
THE VOSBIKIAN BAND HAROUT PAMBOUKJIAN
OOR EYIR ASTVATS ARKA 1976
Definitely one of the best-known Armenian singers, and with reason. I found sealed copies of his first few albums at an Armenian record store in L.A., which currently only sells CDs but had a couple of boxes of old stock they hadn't gotten rid of in the '70s/'80s. His first album was recorded and released in Los Angeles in 1976, and featured Pamboukjian's unique vocal stylings over funky drums, electric bass lines, violins and some slick keyboard work. Although the album is a great listen all the way through, his cover version of "Oor Eyir Astvats" ("Where Were You God") — a song written by Arthur Meschian about the Armenian genocide — stands out as a great example of how Pamboukjian's heartfelt vocal delivery shines on ballads, as well as on funk-influenced party cuts.
ARMENIAN DANCE FAVORITES INDEPENDENTLY RELEASED
ARAM KHACHATURIAN
GAYANE МЕЛОДИЯ 1962
1975
Formed in Philadelphia in 1939. After a number of 78 rpm releases, they released their first full-length album in 1955, and were notably the first ArmenianAmerican band to do so. They were known for playing "Kef," or party/dance music, and were commonly referred to as "The Fabulous Vosbikian Band" throughout the East Coast. Spanning generations of musicians, they independently released an album in 1975 called Armenian Dance Favorites, which featured members of the original Vosbikian Band joined by a younger generation of Vosbikians. I found the record for just a dollar at a thrift store in Los Angeles, and didn't think twice about picking it up.
Khachaturian was a Georgian-born Armenian composer and cellist, most notably known for his masterpiece Gayane, a suite written for ballet during the mid–20th century. Khachaturian had a way of combining his love for Armenian folk melodies with classical instrumentation in a way that was never before attempted or heard. I was introduced to his music by my parents, who would constantly play his records throughout our house, and as I got older I started buying every recording of his I could find. Gayane — which still stands as my favorite of his works — has been recorded and played by orchestras all over the world, so fortunately for us it's pretty easy to find on vinyl. I've always loved the song "Lullaby" — a stunning, melancholy piece that I reworked for a song I aptly titled "Gayane," off my own album Little Armenia (L.A.). Truly beautiful music by — in my humble opinion — one of the greatest composers of the 20th century.
18 FILM
FILM
T
This month we’ve handed over cinema duties to London based Talar Demirdjian. She was sure to let us know that when our editor put in the call she was still in bed, barely awake and couldn’t think of a single Armenian film. Having bit off more than she could chew, she did what anyone would in said situation...call her mum who, of course, listed off the names of films like they were her own children. So we present to you Miss Talar Demirdjian’s mother’s top four Armenian movies as written by Miss Talar Demirdjian.
ARARAT BY: ATOM EGOYAN “Ararat is not so much a movie about the Armenian genocide as it is about the refusal to acknowledge it,” proclaimed the movie’s director, Egoyan, about the intent of his latest work. Better known for his movies “Chloe”, “Where the Truth Lies”, and more recently “The Captive”, starring Ryan Reynolds, in 2002 Egoyan directed Ararat, essentially a movie about making a movie about the Armenian Genocide. Edward Saroyan, an Armenian director, wants to make a Hollywood-type movie about the Armenian genocide, from the fictionalised point of view of a real historical figure, Arshile Gorky. Considered to be Egoyan's most personal work thus far, the movie is a multi-layered inspection of the legacy of the Genocide, in which fiction and reality, memory and history, all become fluid and unpredictable.
FILM 19
THE LARK FARM BY: PAOLO & VITTORIO TAVIANI
This movie is not for the faint hearted. It starts off smooth and unsuspecting; a rich Armenian family, the Avakian family, are not worried about the rising tide of Turkish hostility towards their people, and do not believe that it will affect them personally in any way. This is eventually proven untrue when soldiers of the Turkish military show up at their house and brutally murder every male member while forcing the women to trek off into the Syrian desert all by themselves, to perish from starvation, fatigue or disease. The movie is in Italian, starring Spanish actress Paz Vega, better known for her roles in Spanglish and Sex & Lucia. In the Taviani brothers’ The Lark Farm, Vega delivers a moving performance as Nunik, one of the Avakian daughters. The only time Armenian is heard in the movie is in the song Ov Siroun Siroun which Nunik sings at the climax of the movie. It will without a doubt startle all your senses. I remember my Armenian dance group hosting the premiere of this movie at the cinema. After it ended, we all left the room, our hearts aching and with tears in our eyes.
GIKOR BY: SERGEI ISRAELYAN NAMUS BY: HAMO BEKNAZARIAN Namus means ‘honor’ in Armenian, and is, needless to say, the central theme of this movie. It’s a silent movie based on a novel by the same name written by Alexander Shirvanzade. It explores the notion of ‘honor’ in traditional Armenian society - in relationships, customs, and so-called scandals between men and women. The story is about an engaged couple, Seyran and Susan, who, according to custom, are prohibited from meeting before they are married, but they arrange secret meetings all the same. The film delves into the ensuing consequences of the couple’s actions and the devastating derailment of their lives. The entire movie can be watched on YouTube.
As Armenians, we grow up reading the tales - stories, novels, poems - of the great Hovhannes Tumanian. Many of his most prominent works, such as Gikor, were later turned into movies, and others even into Operas, such as the world renowned Anush opera. Gikor revolves around the protagonist by the same name, a 12 year old son of the peasant Hambo, who is sent to the city Tiflis to find work in order to financially support his family. He is quickly offered a job as an apprentice to Bazaz Artem, but his wife is not too happy about it. We follow Gikor’s life as his status as apprentice soon deteriorates to that of servant, treated badly and with few rights. The sad story reflects the roughness of past times, the destructive powers of poverty, and the enduring love of a family. The movie will make you appreciate your life and family even more than you already should.
20 TITERNIG
BORN AGAIN
Katchadourian on commemorating the past by contributing to its future
TITERNIG 21
impressed by their strength – and terrified by the idea that it could happen to us again!
L
ebanese-Armenian recording artist Eileen Katchadourian knows a thing or two about rebirth. Part of the third-generation of genocide survivors, Katchadourian grew up in the midst of the 15-year long Lebanese civil war. Her debut album Midan, a mixture of traditional Armenian songs and alternative rock, was an angst filled stormer. Her latest release,Titernig (butterly in Armenian), is a sonic reincarnation. We caught up with her just before the album’s release to talk about its inception, her time growing up, and what lies in store next.
AK: Let’s talk a bit about origins. You were born in
Beirut towards the beginning of the War and grew up in an Armenian-Lebanese family - one that was very involved in music. Yes, I lived my first 13 years running away from bombs, hiding in underground shelters and playing Monopoly and cards with the neighbours, listening to Beethoven and Wagner, watching my grandmother playing piano and playing it myself as well. I dreamt about becoming a rock star and leaving the country.
AK: You are part of the third generation of survivors of the Armenian Genocide and the theme features heavily in your music. What is your first memory of learning about the tragedy? What do you believe future generations need to do to commemorate generations past?
My first memory of learning about the Genocide is that of my grandparents talking about the horrifying events they had gone through. I was amazed by the fact that they had managed to create happy families in spite of the terrors they had witnessed. My grandfather’s mom was killed in front of his own eyes… I was very
It’s important for everyone to know the story of their family and the history of their people. For Armenians living in the diaspora, it is important to know where we come from, where we lived, how we lived, what we worked with, how we survived the terrors and how we eventually ended up where we are today. To commemorate past generations lost, we should contribute to the ongoing collective - and individual – research of the Genocide. By allowing our Armenian history to be known to the peoples of the world, we can raise awareness of the importance of respecting the cultures, languages and religions of all the world’s minority populations.
AK: You released your last album, Midan, in 2008 under your full name. That album was a mixture of traditional Armenian songs juxtaposed with a more alternative sound.Titernig has a distinctly different approach. What do you make of your transition?
More than six years have passed since Midan. Six years is a long time and many things happened during those years. I have matured and gained more confidence in both my voice and my personal creative capacity. I feel confident in doing what I want to do without caring about what others have to say. Titernig is kind of a new beginning, almost like a rebirth. I have moved away from the earlier album’s alternative rock feel and towards a more electronic style. Titernig is also the result of different experiences; different collaborations with different artists and cultures. Titernig is a globetrotter.
AK: Can you tell us a bit about the concept behind
the album’s artwork? Who did it and how did it come about? The artwork, just like the music, was the result of teamwork. When we talked about the album’s title, Titernig, we imagined a cocoon… a birth or a rebirth. A cocoon that opens up and becomes a butterfly after an exhaustive process of growth, and a butterfly that is fragile, aerial and unpredictable in its flight. I had a great team with me: Tanya Traboulsi the photographer, Beatrice Harb the stylist and Stéphanie
Aznarez the make up artist. And of course Abraham Zeitoun, who created the album’s beautiful design and the image that makes you feel as though the album is literally growing and then fluttering away as you open it up and go through it.
AK: We want to speak to you a bit about the term
“world music”. How do you feel about the label? Do you find it detrimental to what you’re trying to achieve? No, I have no problem with that label. World music means different things to different people; it’s different types and styles of music from all over the world. But some would probably say my music is more properly termed electronic.
AK: Tell us a bit about the live aspect of your music.
What can one expect when they see you perform? What elements do you utilize to convey the message of the music? People come to see Katchadourian, to meet with me, to hear my voice. I love to be on stage, I’ve loved it all my life and I love the audience. Live performance depends a lot on the extent to which you are backed up by musicians. It is never, and it shouldn’t be, the same as studio music. It is visual, it is live, it is the real thing and my voice is the main instrument.
AK: What do you have planned after the album? Would you like to tour on it? What’s next for you?
I’ve been invited to the Armenia Project 2015 in Istanbul where I will perform live on April 22 along with several other artists from around the world. Then I’m off to Los Angeles at the beginning of May to attend the World Armenian Entertainment Awards at which I’ve been nominated for the Best Female Vocalist of the Armenian Diaspora award. And then, yes, I would love to tour the world with my Titernig!
22 DAS KOMIC
DAS KOMIC 23
Audio Kultur would like to thank: Sevag Dilsizian Jewelery Designer
Jack Dabaghian Photographer
Maestro Harout Fazlian
Conductor of the Lebanese Philharmonic Orchestra
Eileen Katchadourian Singer/Songwriter
Angelique Sabounjian Designer
who gave their own blood for the printing of this magazine... literally.