On the occasion of his book about Giannis Christou, author Alexandros Adamopoulos discusses with composer Konstantinos Lygnos
More than 50 years have passed since Giannis Christou departed from Greece’s musical and cultural scene. A long time, certainly; but here, time is perhaps the least important factor. What matters much more is how different that era was. Those of us who lived through it remember the optimistic climate and the positive atmosphere. With an open future before us, we sought – almost chased – new ideas and experiences. With ample time on our hands, we absorbed everything we could: Music, theatre, cinema, visual arts.
Today is a different era. Conditions have changed, and we have been through a lot. Old certainties were disproven, ideas changed, some things survived and some did not. The old avant garde, with its excesses that emptied concert halls, has died, and names once considered “sacred monsters” are now merely surviving or completely forgotten. Concerts and programs have drastically changed. We listen differently and think differently. Younger generations, in any case, see everything differently.
It is therefore very important that Giannis Christou passes this first test and is not forgotten like so many of his contemporaries. All this time, there was a “leaven” within the field; some who believed he was worth it. Research was conducted, there were papers, doctorates, and a few concerts. The surprise came when it became apparent that there was something more out there. This was demonstrated by the publication of Alexandros Adamopoulos’s book “About Giannis Christou,” which performed unexpectedly well, having gone through five editions to date.
We can characterize it as a “special book for non-specialists,” which seemed to interest many more people than the narrow, specialized audience of “new” art music or academic circles. Of course, first-hand accounts of people and events are always of interest to many beyond specialists. However, I believe that this resonance is largely due to Christou himself.
The following discussion covers many topics: The book itself, issues related to the era, and more “subjective” aspects such as the creator’s personality, his relationships with his environment, his acquaintances, and his friends.
Happy reading!
K. A. Lygnos
K.L: I would like to start from the winter of ’84, when you and Sandra were reading the publications about her father. You say that each, in her own way, wrote well.
A.A: I believe that my decision at the time to establish, together with my then-wife, the non-profit organization Friends of Giannis Christou Music played a decisive role in bringing his name and work more into the public eye. We were particularly concerned about who would be members; that’s why we approached many serious and interesting people; not only his relatives, nor necessarily musicians. Thus, the company’s members included – even though Manos Hatzidakis, who eventually joined, had serious objections to some – beyond the music world, many prominent names of the era: Koun, Tsarouchis, Cacoyannis, Kampanellis, Mavroidis, Papastratos, Pieridis, Doxiadis, Goulandris, Pavlos Zannas, Dora Tsatsou, Chloe Obolensky, and others. It was therefore natural that the interview we organized at the Goethe Institute would attract the attention of journalists and receive very positive reviews in all newspapers. This was the first step; as within a few years, significant things were done for the preservation and dissemination of his work, as stated in our statutes.
K.L: For me, what matters, as 55 years have passed since Christou’s unjust death, which is a very long time, is that his imprint seems to have extended beyond the narrow circle of some music lovers and the even narrower one of the “Greek avant-garde.”
A.A: That’s what I say too, and it always concerned me: the Creator and his work. For the first time then, in 1985, ‘Music of the Phoenix’ and ‘Enantiodromia’ were performed at the Odeon of Herodes Atticus. Two years later – again at the Odeon – the ‘2nd Symphony’ had its world premiere and was even released on an LP record. Also, from older recordings, ‘Mysterion’ was released on LP here, and four of his works (‘Enantiodromia’ ‘Epikyklos’ ‘Praxis for 12’ ‘Anaparastasis III’) were released in Berlin. The Naka publishing house released the score of his youthful ‘Prelude et Fuge pour deux pianos’; his only work published in Greece. At that time, the first purely musicological book on Christou was published: Anne Martine Lucciano’s work, translated by George Leotsakos. For the first time, a relevant broadcast about him was presented on ERT. Shortly after, the oratorio ‘Fiery Tongues’ was presented at the International Festival of Contemporary Music in Warsaw, and it was performed again shortly after at the Megaron Concert Hall. In Warsaw, the great Penderecki himself was present and applauded enthusiastically. And finally – to mention only the most important – the major cycle ‘Brahms, Schönberg, Christou’ took place in Hamburg, where most of his works were presented by German performers over a week, followed by a very interesting symposium about him. Thirty, forty years have passed now. I am glad to remember them and feel good inside that everything was done in the most serious way, bringing Giannis Christou out of a narrow circle of followers.
K.L: We, the young aspiring music students who attended concerts at the Hellenic American Union and elsewhere, were part of that narrower circle. With the help of the era, we were generally receptive to anything. Even then, however, we felt Christou was something different from the rest.
A.A: Indeed, at that time, for a mainly youthful audience, concerts at Zappeion, Hilton, and later the Hellenic American Union were a magnet; especially during the Dictatorship, where anything new and slightly different immediately captivated. And Christou, with the completely new air he brought and the momentum of his music, stood out. Although, if we’re being honest, the military regime did not bother or hinder him; quite the opposite: In the last three years of his life (1967-1970), which were during the Dictatorship, his pace was frenetic. I, a teenager then, had not followed any of this. From a sound system I had bought with hard-earned savings, I constantly listened to symphonic music at full blast, always conducting an imaginary orchestra like a madman. As we were very close neighbors, I might have bothered him. However, he never made any remark to me, and every day we greeted each other from our balconies.
K.L: You have said several times that you do not want to appear as a ‘Christologist’ and that this is not the purpose of your book.
A.A: No matter how much I happened to live within his world, I never wanted to appear as an expert. Newlyweds then with Sandra, and for several years after, we lived in that world, getting to know people and things very well and in the most natural way in Athens, Chios, and Cyprus. However, when writing the book ‘About Giannis Christou’, my purpose was not to describe this world as an expert or through a keyhole, but to soberly and with the greatest possible accuracy show the Creator himself. I was very concerned with how to gather and ‘direct’ all this material, so that it would become a book that could be pleasantly read by everyone – even by people who have no idea who Giannis Christou is – without becoming light reading, but also without losing credibility and continuous documentation, presenting even completely unknown documents until now. Believe me; it may sound simple, but it is not. The fact that I probably know how to write helped me somewhat. I’ve been doing this my whole life; writing. I have published several books, each of which already has its own happy life. Here, however, things were completely different: Writing about Giannis Christou, I had no freedom to be a literary creator, but I was constantly strictly focused on what needed to be written, and moreover, without wanting it to be a boring biography rehashing commonplaces, nor, of course, a dithyrambic eulogy. From the reviews the book has received so far, and from its general acceptance, I have the impression that it achieved its goal. Its successive editions also prove this.
K.L: What do you mean when you say that some people rehash general opinions about Christou, ignoring people and facts?
A.A: In the early days after the Society was founded, and for several years thereafter, many interested parties – known and unknown – came to my office. With a few exceptions of truly serious individuals, most were simply deeply impressed by the myth of Giannis Christou without having studied anything; perhaps even without having heard anything other than ‘The Pianist’. Yet, they were very eager to parrot grand statements like: ‘Music B.C. and A.D.’; meaning music before Christou and music after Christou, metapraxis, metamusic, postmodern, lunar, astral, cosmic, and so on. Many of these, however much they might mean something, have unfortunately remained hollow clichés. If we add the various mythical stories that have been told about him over time, we realize that the general image presented of the Creator is not only vague but can also be wrong. This mentality does not concern me at all, and I did not want it to permeate my book in any way. Frankly, I would have preferred all those people back then not to even know who Giannis Christou was and to have heard one or two Haydn symphonies. Not to mention it wouldn’t have been bad if they had learned in the meantime that there was also a Bruckner…
K.L: You also say that you don’t want to present yourself as a musicologist, and you’re absolutely right!
A.A: But that’s the truth! My only connection to music is my adoration for it and my crazy obsession – even now – with conducting an imaginary orchestra in the air. That’s how I feel. Beyond that, I have absolutely no connection to musicology or research.
K.L: Here I want to open a parenthesis: My friend, violinist G. Demertzis, has said that musicology in Greece is like cancer, and I think he is very right. It develops at the expense of Music. This happened to us: While the music world was struggling, university departments quickly sprouted up, and doctorates came one after another. Appointments to positions followed closely… Research is clearly needed, but music is not musicology. Research is useful when it leads to discovery and from there to practice, meaning performances and recordings.
A.A: I agree with you. Something similar is said about bad literary critics who are not, however, writers: A very bad wine easily turns into vinegar!
K.L: I’d like to say a few words about the elements of Christou’s life and his work.
A.A: If we look at them objectively and soberly, there are indeed many elements in his life that make him a unique case, beyond his genius: He was an Egyptian Greek; scion of a wealthy family living in Alexandria. His father was a very successful businessman, his mother an aspiring writer; both educated and multilingual. Along with his brother, four years his senior, he received an excellent external education and had Gina Bachauer as his piano teacher from a young age. He spoke English like an Englishman, good French, Italian, and some Arabic. From the age of twenty, he studied in England and Italy at enviable institutions and had important acquaintances throughout Europe. He came to know Greece in his thirties when, after Nasser’s revolution, he settled here. He lived half the year in Athens; initially at the home of the then Minister Konstantinos Tsatsos, and the other half at his wife Sia Choremi’s idyllic family home in Chios; where her father – George Choremi – was an almost mythical figure, a national benefactor. Consequently, with such a socio-economic and educational background, in the late 1950s, he was a person who immediately made an impression on everyone here; even if he had done nothing. If we add, however, that he had already composed ‘Music of the Phoenix’ and the ‘First Symphony’ (which were first performed in London under the direction of Alec Sherman), the ‘Latin Mass’, the ‘Six Songs to T. S. Eliot’s Poetry’, and the ‘Second Symphony’, we understand that he was an entirely distinct figure from the beginning.
K.L: Of particular interest to me is how his philosophical and other interests intertwine with his music and, from a certain point onwards, shape it.
A.A: The publisher Christos Lambrakis, who knew Christou well, used to say about him: ‘He was also a bit of a philosopher’. I agree, although I think he was more of a philosopher than just a musician. He was always deeply concerned with profound existential problems: life, death, human destiny. The atmosphere in which he grew up, in Egypt, also played a role. He had studied ancient civilizations, the organization of primitive societies, Eastern religions, Zen, yoga, ancient funerary texts from Egypt and Tibet. And, of course, all the Greeks; especially the Pre-Socratics and the Tragedians. His brother, who always influenced him greatly, was a psychoanalyst close to Karl Jung; hence, Depth Psychology. And of course, emerging from World War II, he tragically experienced all the horror of Hiroshima and Nagasaki, where the ‘victors,’ in just a few minutes, buried – along with hundreds of thousands of civilian dead – all hopes for a better tomorrow. All this bitterness, dissolution, pain, individual and collective confusion, he strove to express through his music. I think this is evident in every composition and permeates his entire work from beginning to end.
K.L: I think this is more clearly seen in his “musical-theatrical” – let’s call them that – works: “Astronkatoida,” “Lady with the Strychnine,” “The Pianist.” But let’s talk about what you call the social environment.
A.A: After the most painful civil strife, and for about fifteen years, the country began to rebuild and flourish again. Naturally, this extended to Culture. So, coming here, under the circumstances he did, Christou had every opportunity to connect and collaborate with the best that existed then: National Theatre, Paxinou, Minotis, Tsarouchis, Art Theatre, Koun, Obolensky, EIR, Hatzidakis, Papaioannou, Hatzinikos, Leotsakos, Guarino, Gabai, Agrafiotis, Paridis, Karydis. And younger ones, of course; Antoniou, Sakkas, Semitecolo. And from the business world; Andreadis, Papastratos, Chandris, Doxiadis, Karras, Goulandris, and many others; not to mention corresponding acquaintances abroad; mainly in London, Copenhagen, Munich, Auckland, where he presented his works in world premieres. This does not mean, however, that all these people were also close friends of his. I would even say that no matter how well he knew how to behave – and to impress if he wanted to – he was rather a very private person who preferred contemplation and study. It is characteristic, I think, that even among his very close collaborators, no one had ever been hosted at his wonderful house in Chios.
K.L: I was struck by how you imply that even his immediate circle didn’t quite understand him. Is it the well-known Greek symptom – that Greeks understand little music beyond songs – or does it also have to do with the very specific demands this music makes to be understood?
A.A: It’s not a matter of understanding; I believe we are a very musical people. Of course, just as any serious music has its demands, so does this one; although it is almost always specific, direct, and certainly very intense. I don’t know exactly what you’re referring to or if I made any insinuation about his immediate circle. But the question is, which immediate circle are we talking about now? For many years, there have been people who spoke about him as if they knew him well, when in fact they had no idea how he truly lived and who he ultimately was. Of course, we cannot resurrect the past. But we must be careful about what is said and not uncritically reproduce secondary sources that may have no value. And most importantly: First and foremost, we must listen to the composer’s work. All of his work. The rest, let’s leave to the musicologists.
K.L: May I ask something difficult for anyone, especially a non-specialist? Perhaps even a little dangerous… I’ve heard from Nelly Semitecolo that in those years he used the phrase “little notes, little notes” somewhat dismissively-ironically. Many composers of that time eventually turned back, while others stubbornly persisted on what I consider a dead-end path. This very unique creator, who had shown us his abilities early on, where do you think he would have moved towards?
A.A: I’ve also heard about the ‘little notes, little notes’. He himself said that “Music is the steps of ordinary people, a movement, a symbol,” thus describing his sonic palette which could contain everything beyond ‘little notes’ – which, however, let’s also say, he knew very well and handled with exceptional virtuosity himself. So, I have the feeling that he was not a prophet of absolute destruction, nor of frenzied anarchy. He was not that type; quite the opposite. He did not deny form. He did not deny structure and composition with a beginning, middle, and end. This is evident even in ‘The Pianist’, which is one of his last works. Simply, amidst the gloom of our era, searching for something else, he was now rejecting European civilization, as it had ended up. «Music has failed, Man has failed» he himself said. And in his last interview again: «…We break away from the tradition created by European civilization and return to the beginnings of tradition, to the roots, to its archetypes. Perhaps it is a recycling, as Heraclitus implies…» After demonstrating in the clearest way dissolution, destruction, and chaos, breaking away from European civilization, he returns to Heraclitus and the “Hidden Harmony.” But beyond denial, what would the continuation be? What would he create next? «I, however, feel liberated from the oppression of all that European culture bequeathed to us,» he says, insisting on the denial of European culture, but not on the denial of every rule; thus, not on the denial of life itself. Here it is worth bringing into our discussion Konstantinos Tsatsos, who, living for four years on the ground floor of the same building where Christou lived, knew him very well, and says something very interesting: «…I always had the feeling of incompleteness about Giannis for so many years. I would very much like to be discussing now and listening to him; to hear him tell me how he envisioned Composition would become. Through what processes would he achieve Transcendence. What and how would his final Composition be: Giannis’s final Affirmation; beyond Denial»…
This – if he had answered it within himself – he took with him forever that fateful evening on January 8, 1970; so I stop here.
O Alexandros Adamopoulos was born in Athens. He studied Law at EKPA, directing, classical guitar in Athens, and pursued postgraduate studies – Sociologie Politique – at the Sorbonne. He was the founder and managing director of the non-profit ‘Giannis Christou Music Friends Society’. He served as a member and general secretary of the board of the National Theatre.
His short story collections “Twelve and One Lies” and “Lies Again” were published in France, Germany, Holland, Turkey, and India. The play “The Semolina Man” was presented in English at Wesley College in Melbourne, in Turkish at the State Şehir Tiyatro in Istanbul, while here it has been staged in over 85 different productions (National Theatre, K.TH.V.E, many DIPETHE, etc.). Other works: “The Cigarette and Yoga,” “Ohinailégontas,” “Inachos the Son of Oceanus,” “The No’s of YES,” “The Possessed,” “Auguste Rodin Testament,” “Adam and the Apple,” “The Unending Cycle,” “Loose,” “About Giannis Christou,” “Monique.”
