THROUGH THE CLOUDS—HERE COMES THE SUN!
This year marks the anniversary of the so-called “British Invasion,” when the Beatles arrived in America to appear on the Ed Sullivan Show. It is a reminder of a precious musical “cultural exchange” I enjoyed a few years ago in Athens with two twenty-something Athenian friends. They initiated me to the world of Rembetika music and I cautiously introduced them to the music of a group they knew vaguely--The Beatles.
Rembetika music grew from The Asia Minor Catastrophe when more than two million refugees were forced from Anatolia in 1922 by the Turkish army. Troops led by Kemal Attaturk burned Smyrna, forcing most of the Greeks, Jews, and anyone not Turkish who survived to flee to very poor neighborhoods of Athens and Thessaloniki where they formed underground communities, shunned by most urbanites and hounded by the authorities.
From these dreadful conditions came mournful music lamenting the suffering and hopeless lives of the survivors who had no dreams for the future. Played with bouzoukis, the music has a haunting, plaintive, oriental sound. To hear these songs, my friends, Yorgos and Sophia, took me to the Plaka area where we went to several “dens” in taverna basements on a dreary and cloudy November Saturday night. True to Yorgos’ description, the songs were mournful, reminding me of American “blues,” except they were very raw and doleful.
When we went home to their flat, my friends enriched my education of Rembetika music by playing more CDs. To reciprocate, I told them Beatles’ stories and played the Abby Road album, explaining that it had George Harrison’s Something, a song Frank Sinatra considered “the greatest love song ever written.” (I am not sure they recognized Sinatra’s name). Shortly thereafter, I went to bed, while they played my CD and danced.
The next morning, dark clouds were hovering as I drank my coffee on the balcony, and Yorgos and Sophia were inside, once again dancing slowly to Harrison’s great love song, Something. When Yorgos came outside and saw the clouds, he said he had the perfect song for the occasion. Going inside, he played one of his favorites: Cloudy Sunday by Stelios Kazantzidis. We listened, watched the clouds, sipped our coffee, and then, suddenly, the sun began to make its appearance.
I could not resist. I hurried into the house, found my CD, and played Here Comes the Sun for my Athenian friends. Joining arms, we swayed to the joyful melody, welcoming the sun.