Opinions on the Evolution of Armenian Popular Music and Culture

"Often, common themes appear, allowing the cultural observer to understand why the outcome appears the way it does without fully understanding the context."

Opinions on the Evolution of Armenian Popular Music and Culture

Preface

The following is a discussion on Armenian music based on my listening experience as a diaspora Armenian from Massachusetts. I understand that my perspective may be limited due to my background. I consider myself an active listener, both in the sense of musical history/context and music theory, but not to the point that I have the credibility to write a scholarly article on the topic. For this reason, I've written in an informal format to illustrate some thoughts I have on the topic.

Introduction

Over the past couple of years, I have taken a liking to modern music from Armenia that stems from contemporary folk music. This genre is known as "Rabiz". The name, according to Wikipedia, "stems from the Russian phrase 'работники искусства' (rabotniki iskusstva) used during Soviet times, meaning 'Art Workers', in reference to unions which specialized in new music composition". This name is characteristic of the music, as it is considered to be a lower-class genre in Armenia and is not generally performed on large stages, but rather in restaurants, weddings, and private parties.

Personal Introduction to Rabiz

If I recall correctly, the first Rabiz song I ever heard was Korovadz by Hayk (Spitakci Hayko) Ghevondyan. It was quite different from the modern Armenian music I had heard in the diaspora. I had been familiar with Armenian-American folk music, also known as "Kef Music," for about 4 years. I listened to it every day, gathering a library of 200+ hours of live recordings dating back to the 1950s. I also picked up the Oud (Middle Eastern lute) as it was prominent in Armenian-American music. Keep in mind, this was my main introduction to Armenian music--a unique combination of musical styles that can be traced only with a deep understanding of Armenian displacement, immigration, and cultural blending.

Korovadz was different yet strangely similar to the music I was used to. The vocals and instruments were highly improvised, yet in a different style than the Turkish/Ottoman style of improvisation used in Armenian-American music. In hindsight, I realize this style is very characteristic of Azerbaijan and Russian contemporary folk. The clarinet player, whom I believe to be Norayr Barseghyan, played with a smooth, syncopated rhythm, constantly losing the beat and finding it again. In my first listen, the clarinet interludes sounded like completely improvised sequences, yet I realized later that they were loosely following the melody to the point that it was nearly unrecognizable. Behind this was the syncopated 6/8 rhythm that was characteristic of Rabiz.

The lyrics to the song were also comical. Hayko says, "Khorovadz@ shat lav ban e, jan, tooy tooy, tooy tooy"; "Khorovadz (Armenian Barbecue) is such a good thing". "Arandz kini anhamar e, Jan tooy tooy, tooy tooy"; "Without wine it's impossible" (Tooy tooy being a nonsense-word, likely irrelevant and just for feeling). Such simple lyrics reminded me of the lyrics of Armenian-American music, where the performers either spoke broken Armenian or none at all, and the only simple lyrics they were capable of performing were those of love, food, and partying. Later, I would learn that Rabiz had much more to offer than these simple lyrics, discovering more poetic songwriters like Aram Asatryan. Artists like him were also famous for their songwriting, using metaphors and more advanced lyricism. However, since Rabiz, and Kef, for that matter, are genres meant for good times, we don't need the lyrics to be advanced; we just need to feel good when listening to them.

Current State of Understanding

I have been listening to the genre intensively for about 2 years, since the spring of 2024. I already had a basic understanding of pop and dance music from the Armenian diaspora, with some of my favorite artists including Paul Baghdadlian, Harout Pamboukjian, Manuel Menenkichian, Maxim, and Khatchig Jingirian. However, I was not a 'superfan' of any of these artists and was only familiar with a handful of songs from each.

When I first found the album that Korovadz is on (Live in Concert 2006), I was entranced with the sound but had trouble interpreting it. In particular, I loved Urakh Yergeri Popuri because it included the very familiar Akh Im Anoush Yar--a song that I mostly associated with Armenian-American Kef music. At the time, I wasn't familiar with any of the other songs in the medley.

Another key discovery was the song Garoon E by Tatul Avoyan. This was the first song that I enjoyed from him, with little understanding of his status within Armenian music. What drew me to it was the familiar melody from Drumsalero by Richard Hagopian & the Kef Time Band, as well as Pecan Hop by the Vosbikian Band. In Garoon Eh, Avoyan made up lyrics to this melody. I asked myself the question: how could this melody find its way to California in the 1960s, and to New Jersey/Philadelphia in the '70s-'80s? To me, it was still a mystery.

When I started to find songs like Tsap Tsap Nanina, Nazan Yars (both Sptiakci Hayko), and Ashxare Merna Sharan (Hayko Araratci), Varter Berem, Sevook Sirum (Tatul Avoyan), I became obsessed with the genre, mostly due to the experimental singing and clarinet playing, as well as the interesting sound of the dhol and its rhythms. I also loved how the synth player could pick any sound during a live recording, so, similar to a DJ set, it was a surprise which sound would be used next. This was unique to Rabiz and definitely set it apart from Kef music.

If you sort my playlist by date added, you can sort of see the progression of what I took a liking to (the order is not 100% accurate to when I discovered a song).

When I first discovered Vle Khaloyan, a Yezidi-Armenian singer, I became even more confused. I believe the first recording I heard was Alla Yar /Yars Andzav / Kyuliya / Azkayin Sharan featuring Masis Karoyan. He frequently sang in Armenian and Yezidi (a Kurdish subgroup), weaving between the languages. They do sound particularly similar. My original impression of the language (I've only heard it in musical lyrics) was that it sounded like alien speak, likely because it was oddly familiar and similar to Armenian, but I couldn't understand it. The more trivial question is how the Yezidi language has integrated itself so well into Rabiz music.

The specific answer to this case will not be answered directly in this blog post, but I invite the reader to make inferences based on what I discuss in the rest of the post. The concept of cultural mixing, especially when it comes to Armenians, Kurds, Azerbaijanis, Russians, Turks, and Arabs, is highly complex. While I can't point to every historical event that caused these cultures to mix, I can simply observe how their mixing has caused the outcome of today's culture. Often, common themes appear, allowing the cultural observer to understand why the outcome appears the way it does without fully understanding the context. At the end of this post, I will provide reliable sources that have helped me better understand this culture.

Opinions that lack cultural context

Recently, I came across a column in the Armenian Mirror-Spectator from 2013 titled "The Enemy is Among Us". The author claims that Rabiz is Turkish-Azeri music, and goes further to say that the main thing wrong with this music being performed on stages is that it "gives the real enemy legitimate claims that Armenians are guilty of plagiarism and second, it is corrupting the true indigenous cultural heritage of the Armenian people". He also calls Rabiz "Altaic yodeling", which I found funny. His somewhat disorganized, rant-style argument raises many longstanding debates about cultural purism. However, if you're Armenian, you know that we are a "special case". In the grand scheme of time, our genocide was relatively recent and, with globalization and technology in full swing, the whole world gets to watch and interact with us as we recover and evolve from such an event. It is clear that, given the history of Armenia, there is more than what meets the eye to discover. We must "lift up the hood" and search for what has caused these misconceptions, as well as the somewhat hostile tone that this writer, and many other cultural purists, have adopted with virtually no provocation.

I am an Armenian American who has been to Armenia twice. I speak fluent Western Armenian, through formal schooling K-5 and conversation with my grandmother thereafter. In my most recent visit to Armenia, I found it particularly difficult and often impossible to communicate with Armenians from Yerevan who speak Eastern Armenian, which is, on top of a thick accent, blended with Russian, Azerbaijani, Turkish, Persian, Arabic, and Georgian. I see Armenian culture from the outside, through social media and news. I am merely an observer in this case. Through only the internet and rare conversations with others who are more knowledgeable than I (or simply speak fluent Eastern Armenian), I attempt to piece together a coherent picture of what the culture is like in Armenia proper. I acknowledge that this puzzle is incomplete and likely distorted. However, it does bring me some sense of objectivity when I make a new discovery via an internet rabbit hole.

For example, as I listened to more Rabiz music, I unavoidably became familiar with Mugham-style performance. This is improvisational ballad-style singing and playing. In Armenia, it's known to be adapted from Azerbaijani, Turkish, and Arabic traditions. Yet in America, Armenian diasporan musicians are no strangers to improvisation. The Taksim is heavily utilized, either as an introduction to a song, an interlude in the middle of a song, or simply a standalone piece. I instantly drew similarities between Mugham and Taksim improvisations. They are both ballad-style and begin in a certain "mode" or Makam, and weave in and out of other modes before returning to the original mode. But there was one discontinuity between these two styles, particularly in singing. I could not decipher where the lyrics to Mughamic singing originated. Hardly understanding what lyrics were being sung made it even more trivial. It took me months to understand what was being said enough to type the exact lyrics into a Google search in Armenian script with correct spelling. When I did, I was led directly to the poetry of Sayat Nova and Ashugh Jivani. This was a realization that maybe Rabiz and Mugham were not only the result of the curious Armenian musician's rabbit hole into international music and culture mixing. Perhaps it was a Soviet and post-Soviet resurgence of Armenian culture.

It is well known that traveling Armenian musicians like Sayat Nova, Ashugh Jivani, and Gusan Sheram were not only fluent in Armenian, but also Russian, Azerbaijani, Turkish, Kurdish, and more, and they composed songs in all of these languages. Therefore in this case, if our so-called "goal" is cultural purity, the medium for judgment cannot be language. Our cherished composers and creators of culture dictated that their music had no physical or cultural boundaries. We must instead judge this music based on the intellectual source it came from, which in these cases was traveling Armenian musicians. We're also aware of the cultural genocide of Armenians in addition to the physical, and acknowledge that many of their Armenian works may have existed at some point but have been lost through extinction and extermination. For this reason, I call this music a resurgence of sorts.

Context & Perception

There seems to be some information asymmetry among Armenians when it comes to our music. This makes sense--most people aren't active listeners and understanders of music. We should not discard the musical opinions of people with little knowledge of music. After all, they are the majority of people who listen to and enjoy the music. Instead, we should aim to understand the life experiences that underpin their opinions.

For example, a friend of mine examined my "Modern/Rabiz Armenian" playlist on Spotify. He noticed that the playlist included artists like Paul Baghdadlian and Harout Pamboukjian. Immediately, he said, "Well, these songs are not Rabiz." Although the playlist name has "Modern" in it, implying that it can include such artists, I described it as my Rabiz playlist, so that's what he perceived it as (rightfully so, as it is majority Rabiz). My immediate reaction was confusion, and I asked myself: "What is really different between Rabiz and the music of artists like Paul Baghdadlian and Harout Pamboukjian?".

There are many differences, but also many similarities. A mix of electronic and live drums? Check. "Free" style improvisational singing? Check. Improvised instrumental or vocal (often modal) interludes ("Taksim" or "Mugham")? Check. Sonically, a non-Armenian with no exposure to this music would not be able to differentiate these types. They might be mixed differently or center around a different timbre family of synths, but even then, they are not too different. My thesis is the following: the cognitive dissonance between Rabiz and other modern types of Armenian music stems from the country, time period, and subculture of origin. Harout and Paul grew up in Lebanon and made the majority of their music in the 70s to the 90s, whereas Rabiz musicians are from Armenia proper and made the majority of their music in the 90s to the early 2000s. So now we have two moving variables: the location of origin and the time period. How can we gauge the true causal effect of these variables on the sound they produce? As you might guess, it's difficult. It's so difficult that many selections from both genres are nearly indistinguishable. My conclusion points to the fact that cultural nuances are what shape people's understanding of the genres (the context they heard the music in throughout their lived experiences), but this tends to blind listeners to the true sound of the music. One final thing to consider is the Armenian dialect in which the vocals are sung (Eastern vs. Western). In general, these songs feature a mix of both, especially in the given time period in which a majority of the music was recorded, which once again creates a grey area of distinguishability.

Let's focus on the least quantifiable variable: Subculture. How do people's experiences of the music shape their perception and categorization of it? One characteristic of all Armenian music is the culture of live performance. Armenian music has always been meant to be listened to live since the time of Ashughs (traveling troubadour musicians; there was no other way to listen but live). Since many of these folk songs are still sung in some variation today, the culture of live performance holds. It also revolves around the fact that the wedding and the kef (barahantes) and the music associated with them are huge aspects of Armenian culture. Studio recording is merely a byproduct of technological evolution. Even Armenian studio recordings are rarely recorded track-by-track, but rather with a band in multiple different takes. This shows the Armenian's desire to retain authenticity in music, even if it is recorded in a studio. In live performance, it is the musician's opportunity to push boundaries and experiment. This is where we arrive at the improvisational and "free" performance style of the music. Because improvisation is inherently part of Armenian musical culture, musicians tend to experiment in both live performance. And why shouldn't they? How, if boundaries are never broken, is our music supposed to evolve and grow? Studio recordings made are generally more put-together and less experimental, to appeal to the predictability desired by the listener.

As musicians, we play and practice music frequently, which inherently drives a desire to play a variety of music, so as not to get bored with the music we play. We strive to follow our music interests (what sounds good or interesting to us) and not restrict ourselves based on cultural norms. Doubly, musicians who travel are exposed to a wide range of international music traditions, performers, and perspectives. This is what likely causes musicians to have a more "music is music" view rather than a purist stance that is taken by many non-musicians. So, the question becomes: Should experienced musicians pass these personal desires on to listeners, or should they be a private interest amongst the music community?

Taking all this into account, this might explain why popular Rabiz artist Tatul Avoyan claimed that Rabiz music should not be listened to outside live performances, like weddings and Kefs (YouTube). This is a somewhat extreme opinion, but its intention is clear. He wants to retain the authenticity, experimentation, and innovation that can only be captured in live performance.

Implications for culture

This discussion means nothing unless we explore its implications for Armenian culture, which aren't all negative. Culturally nuanced music can appeal or not appeal to people with a lack of information and context. If Rabiz, for example, caught an Armenian's ear and they enjoyed the sound of it, but they weren't aware of its origin and historical context, it might lead them to claim it as their own and only their own. They might become territorial, defensive, and discriminatory with no basis. This likely describes the source of the Armenian Mirror-Spectator author's anger with this kind of music and the people who enjoy it. Those with ignorance can create a somewhat bad image of our culture--they aren't accepting or open to the concept of shared culture and cultural evolution. The main positive of this cultural dilemma is that it encourages research. If music sparks an argument about what is truly Armenian culture, people might be more likely to learn the historical context behind the culture, leading them to more informed opinions. We also should still hold true to ancient Armenian culture in high regard. It's a mark of our cultural perseverance through centuries of suppression and destruction. However, this doesn't mean disregarding what our culture has evolved into.

These arguments can create an internal cultural divide. They leave us in disagreement about what kind of music Armenians should enjoy. When put like this, the argument seems a bit silly. There really is no mandate, nor should there be, on what kind of music people enjoy. With the current political climate in Armenia, you often see similar problems arising where an internal debate about a problem sparks more conflict than the problem itself.

Like I said, if we like the sound of it, we can enjoy it in whatever context we wish. We can also simultaneously acknowledge its origins and its potential "impurity", yet this should not be a reason to discard it. Rather, it should be seen as an opportunity for innovation and learning.

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