What if we told you that Romania’s biggest artist of tomorrow is someone you’re completely ignoring now? Today, we’re talking about how the communist regime neglected the musicians from Taraf de Haidouks. The discrepancy between how popular they became at the peak of their fame in the early 2000s, and the ignorance they faced locally, only proves that they weren’t given the attention they deserved at the right time. That moment could have been at the end of the 1980s.
In 1986, ethnomusicologist Laurent Aubert was deeply moved when, through his Romanian colleagues, he first listened to a handful of musicians from the village of Clejani, in Giurgiu County. When he requested permission from the communist authorities to take them abroad to perform at the traditional music event in Geneva, he was initially refused. Aubert’s persistence eventually paid off, and in 1988, the Clejani musicians performed for a foreign audience, marking their first time playing abroad. As expected, particularly when we talk about an audience willing to embrace new music, they were all impressed. We’re talking about generations of musicians with traditions dating back to 1538, the first documented reference to the Clejani area. You don’t even need to have been there to understand from this description that these performers brought to the stage the purest expression of folklore, especially coming from the Roma community, which even at that time faced almost the same discrimination we see today.
Their music impressed audiences just as any old YouTube recording of them does today. This is because, within the first few seconds, you realize it has nothing to do with organized folk music; it’s something closer to the origins of jazz from the early 20th century United States. There’s always been this gap between classical music and the folk music developed by ear. Even in the Middle Ages, we had the musicians of the elites, the troubadours, and those of the people, the minstrels. What we know for sure is that, more often than not, these two worlds developed their music in completely different environments. However, each side remained deeply impressed when a cultural shock occurred through authentic music. The obstacle that has always remained, though, is authority—especially when we’re talking about a not-so-tolerant regime. That’s why, during the communist period, lăutărească (Roma musicians) music was performed behind closed doors, and sometimes the musicians were even beaten, as the successors of the Clejani musicians have described.
Fortunately, with the fall of the regime, these musicians sent their message of solidarity for the revolutionaries through their music. After all, we’re talking about a community rejected by the ideological trends of the time. Their music was not only unpredictable but also learned orally, passed down from generation to generation without the need for music schools. Perhaps the most painful thing to read are the accounts of musicians living between two worlds—across the border, they lived a dream, but when they returned home, they were hit by harsh reality. This is another living proof, close to our generation, that nostalgia only tells one side of the past, ignoring many of the hardships and struggles of the time. Taraf de Haidouks lived through exactly this kind of cultural shock, which initially frightened them, yet they managed to push through. We probably all know the stories of the Clejani musicians abroad, the most famous being the tales of their performances at Johnny Depp’s house. Their story is one of success, right?
Sadly, the original musicians of the group are no longer with us, but they’ve left behind a rich legacy of stories and music. Current musicians from Romania often succeed in reviving the authenticity of music from Clejani and other parts of the country, or from other previously ignored communities. I’ve often argued, as a fan of almost every punk movement, that Taraf de Haidouks has much more in common with rock music than with any folk ensemble I grew up hearing from my parents. This is why their music never aligned—and never could have aligned—with a totalitarian system like that of socialist Romania.
If you wish to find out more about this era, as well as to avoid unnecessary nostalgia, please visit us at the Museum of Communism at Covaci street, no. 6, Bucharest.
