Writers Corner

[ED]

Shouban the Sazist

-David Saakyan

 

 

 

 

Chapter one

 

The perfect creations in life aren’t the siblings that are produced, but the special talents that they seem to obtain as life swiftly passes them by, day by day, month by month, and year by year. The child is born with noting but a thirst for knowledge. Their brains are comparable to yellow sponges, absorbing even the smallest doses of information that is accessible in a world with so much to offer in such little time. They eat, drink and swallow the positive and negative aspects in life, thus creating the image they will soon portray to the world. The aspects of life which are imbedded into a sponge from birth vary from love, hate, happiness, sadness, poverty and of course passion. Passion derives from multiple elements from multiple impressions. The passion for art may differ rapidly from the passion for hate. Passion also derives from the concept of remote romanticism. Dwelling on even the smallest specs of life to create a somewhat form of art to present to the public. As life slowly drifts away, and the sibling becomes an adult, the society he or she lives in will dominate the way he will be perceived. He shall become stronger by the day, and long known after his exile from earth, I promise…

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Part 1

 

In Tiflis:

 

I present myself to you as the man who will guide you through a series of musical journeys throughout the Caucasus region during the years of my musical career. As for my name, I am simply known as “Shouban the Sazist”, however my real name is Haygaz Shoubanian. I was born in Tbilisi, Georgia during the fall of 1932 in a mediocre apartment complex in the Armenian centre of Tbilisi, or as we Armenians call it “Tiflis”. My father, Ishkhan Shoubanian, was originally from the mountainous region known as Mush in Turkish Armenia. My mother, Nayri Goruzian, was born in the village of Sadarak during a time when Naxichevan still carried Armenians in its demographics. My parents came to each other’s acquaintances during 1929 while studying at the Tbilisi State University. My grandparents were not too fond of the marriage between my parents due to tradition of marrying off their children to men and women of their own villages of cities. However, despite harsh criticism and eventual apathy from my grandparents, Ishkhan and Nayri married each other in the Armenian Church down my street in ay of 1930. Two years later, my mother gave birth to me during the fall of 1932. Ironically, no date of birth was every conceived or recorded. However, my father later picked October 12th as the official date in order for me to receive my Soviet documents. I received formal education at the local Armenian elementary school. I grew up reading novels by Raffi, Hakop Baronian, Taniel Varujian, Siamanto, etc. Reading was a personal enjoyment of mine. Despite the fact that most Armenian literature that came across me contained themes of death, sadness, and nostalgia, I however kept an optimistic attitude towards life and my culture. Literature was my personal enjoyment during my youth; however music soon became not only an enjoyment, but also an incurable addiction. In Tiflis, The Armenian community took pride in the music of the late Georgian-Armenian musician and folk singer Sayat Nova. Sayat Nova performed traditional Armenian folk tunes with an authentic Persian instrument known as the Kamancha. Unfortunately, my parents never had enough money to properly afford a record player for me to use. The only record player I had access to, was the record player at my elementary school which strictly forbade students to use without any adult supervision. I would usually carry my parents’ Sayat Nova and Komitas records to school with me to play on the record player while my other collogues from school were out playing. The sensational element of music came from the amount of connection I felt to the basic structures on which the melodies were built upon. Sometimes I would cry to some melodies performed by Komitas. The agonizing and weeping lyrics of the suffrage he and his family went through during his life poked a whole into my heart. The ever so necessity of musical passion which most musicians searched for all their lives was given to me since my youth. As a 10 year old boy, I sat in a small damped room and listened to the music of great grandfathers, while my other fellow friends from school occupied their time with silly games which resulted in small fights and disobedience. My grandfather, Haykaz Shoubanian, was a well known Saz performer back in Mush. He never accomplished any game in Constantinople due to his ethnic Christian background. Due to the “modernization of Turkey” under Kemal Ataturk, my grandfather still had dreams of giving his talent one more try, however he passed away just a couple of years after my birth and never had the chance of performing in Istanbul like he dreamt to. My father would tell me how my grandfather would make even the toughest men cry with his mesmerizing tunes. His legendary saz was the only solid remaining I had which reminded me of his past. It sat in the corridor across my living room, where we ate supper every evening before my dad would leave to go play backgammon outside with his local collogues. As I became a teenager, Armenian music became not only my life, but also my passion. I began playing my grandfather’s saz at the age of sixteen. Without any proper training or understanding musical notations, I skillfully taught myself all the basic elements on how to play the beautiful instrument. I spent night and day in my bedroom focusing the basic craftsmanship on which the saz was made during the late 19th century. At one point, I even began sleeping with the saz every night before I slept. By the time I was eighteen I had accomplished my fears and began playing Armenian, Turkic (Central Asian) and Persian folk tunes. Every time I struck a string or played a difficult note, it felt though as if all the musical pressure I had psychologically emplaced in my head was slowly dancing away as each wave of sound composed pushed and pushed away all the troubles and worries I had before on my mind. After I graduated secondary school, I spent most of my time performing the saz at weddings and cultural events. I made a descent amount of money to support myself as I decided to live alone in an old apartment building a few blocks from where my parents lived. I felt though as if I had to prove to my parents that I had the willpower to live an independent life without and troubles. It was during April of 1952 when I first me Shmavon Karounian, a violinist performed in the Armenian communist orchestra (based In Yerevan) which toured all throughout the Soviet Union performing Armenian and Russian folk sons to the Soviet people in numerous opera houses and concert theatres. He promised me the organization which was funded by the ministry of culture in Armenian SSR would supply me with an apartment and would pay for all the expenses that were needed to be paid for while I resided in Yerevan. Without any hesitation I eagerly accepted the offer to play the saz for an orchestra group performing the very music I grew up listening to. The idea of living in Yerevan produced chills to my spine. I was finally set to live in Yerevan, an ancient Armenian city, barring one of the oldest Armenian churches in the world. My parents were not too fond of the idea of me leaving to Yerevan. I was an only child and was raised with an “iron fist”. In my opinion, leaving to Yerevan was not only beneficiary for me; however, it would have been beneficiary for my parents also. It would create the notion of independence in which I so desperately deserved as an adult. As the month of April ended, my parents finally agreed to my musical departure. On the morning of April 27th, 1952, I set off to Yerevan with Shmavon Karounian, the very man who I later in my life recall as “My visa to Armenia”.

 

 

To be continued