Melanie Russell (A.D. voice)

The Sound of History: A Musical Heritage

As I reflect on my experiences in Eastern Europe, memories as varied as the region’s history begin to surface. Without a doubt, there were spiritual and sensory feasts aplenty for every taste. Traditional choral music not unlike that to which we are accustomed was followed by exuberant call-and-response psalms ending in major 2nds; the haunting Muslim call to worship in Sarajevo’s hills gave way to voice students working through Donizetti arias, and Verdi performed in Zagreb; a traditional Folk Mass preceded a party in the church basement where savory cured meats and baked goods accompanied homemade liquors, beer, and gleeful circle dances; organized tours through museums, churches, and art galleries alternated with spontaneous adventures along Croatia’s stunning coast and visits to open-air markets, and all the while each of us was stirred in very different ways by this pilgrimage.

For me, some of the most memorable moments of our group excursions were those during which we were privileged to hear live performances and demonstrations of the region’s musical traditions, while the times when I had the chance to walk quietly about an area, such as the stone wall surrounding Dubrovnik or the sweet-smelling lawn of an Eastern Orthodox monastery in Montenegro, provided opportunity to absorb and process all that was presented. In these more secluded minutes, I put together fragments of what I had seen and heard, trying to make sense of its poignancy in words rather than just feelings. One of the first times that I remember being tearful was during a familiar part of Mass in which the “sign of peace” is given and received. At a Roman Catholic cathedral in Sarajevo, a small portion of restored, painted walls was left exposed where the image of Christ had appeared in its bomb-shattered stone. Here, standing below such a symbol of faith in the aftermath of horrible conflict, I was aware of the great significance of exchanging peace with my neighbors, most of whom addressed me in Croatian while I responded as graciously as I could in English. In keeping with the theme of peace, the Pontanima Interreligious Choir was uniquely assertive in its efforts to perform interfaith repertoire to “promote positive provocation” among Muslims, Catholics, and Serbs in Bosnia. This choir meets the challenges of Bosnia’s interfaith culture by illustrating that God can be praised even with the songs of one’s enemies. To hear these people speak of the unthinkable horrors they had witnessed firsthand, and then to listen to them explain their determination to promote peace through song is simply magnanimity beyond my own limited comprehension. But then to hear them sing – it is a moving experience of music indeed transcending language and cultural/ religious misunderstanding. Several of my colleagues were so overwhelmed by the still prominent signs of war throughout Sarajevo that they had to take time at the end of the day to unwind, to try to comprehend the living history around us, even to cry.

I was very much struck by the fact that much of the Bosnian and Croatian folk music requires two vocal parts, and that when two men or two women find that their voices blend well, they will form a lifelong partnership in song. To their ears, the major 2nd is a consonant sound, often emerging from unison at or near the end of a phrase. It seemed to me that this sonority honored and made prominent the importance of the “other” in a spiritual sense. At what interval can one be more aware of singing with another person than at the interval of a 2nd? Of course, not all the vocal music we heard was in this liturgical tradition. In Dubrovnik, we heard an evening concert of klapa music in the form of traditional Lenten chants. The concert began in from the back of a darkened cathedral with a solo chant that was swiftly and powerfully joined with by fifteen other male singers as they processed with the cross, candles, and palms to the front of the Church. The rest of the concert held us spellbound in its rich and more Western-sounding “chordal” harmonies, and in the liturgical movements incorporated to reflect the significance of each Lenten text in the setting of the Mass. In Medugorje, a group of Polish pilgrims sang familiar Marian hymns in improvised harmony as their priest strummed a guitar. Students at Sarajevo’s Academy of Music performed folk music of both sacred and secular styles from both Muslim and Catholic traditions in addition to classical repertoire on violin and piano. In Zagreb, we learned of a wealth of Croatian Baroque repertoire hitherto virtually unknown in the United States.

The artistic and religious heritage of this region is so very rich, so diverse, and so vast that any one area upon which we touched could be studied at great length. I think what is most valuable, however, is that we were able to experience as much as we did in such authentic settings, both solemn and celebratory. It was because of this immersion that as I strolled blissfully above Dubrovnik’s surreally gorgeous coast, I was aware not only of a yearning to lounge by the water and feast on seafood in true tourist fashion, but also of my own awakening to how art and religion both strive to touch and to express the innermost part of our collective being; they are the essence of Pontanima – a bridge to the soul which we venture to cross.