“Song of Songs”: Music and a Relational Aesthetic

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“Song of Songs”: Music and a RelationalAestheticSpyros D. OrfanosPublished online: 14 Feb 2012.

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Psychoanalytic Perspectives 7(2):3 18-339 Copyright 20 10 ISSN: 155 1-806X

“SONG OF SONGS”: MUSIC AND A RELATIONAL AESTHETIC

Spyros D. Orfanos

Artistic creativity is a@lL circle. It begins (as an i d a , impression, climate, tradition) among the people and the times; it passes through the sensitivity of the creator, who gives it his own expression inform, and continues on to attain completion there where he began, that is amidrt the people and the times. Ifthis circle is interrupted or i f a segment is missing, then we

cannot have a true and viable artistic work. -Mikis Theodorakis

HE LAST HERO OF THE GREEKS ENTERS THE ANCIENT HERODION Atticus amphitheater at the southern slope of the Acropolis on T the evening of September 29, 2007. He is guided slowly and

carefully by aides across the large semicircle area between the front of the stage and the first row of seats. He is tentative in his steps but con- fident of purpose. The audience of 5,000 gives him a standing ovation for once again coming to the aid of the Greeks with his music. He is raising funds to help the victims of the devastating summer fires in the historic Peloponnesus region. As he struggles to guide his tall, failing 82-year-old body onto the front-row marble seat, he acknowledges the Hellenes by raising his right hand over his unruly white mane of hair and smiles as if to say, “Together, we will triumph over tragedy.” The Athenians applaud wildly as they have done hundreds, maybe thousands Spyros D. Orfanos, PhD, ABPP, is Clinic Director, New York University Postdoctoral Program in Psychotherapy and Psychoanalysis, and Senior Research Fellow, Center for Byzantine and Modern Greek Studies, Queens College, CUNY. He has served as president of the division of Psychoanalysis of the American Psychological Association.He is also on the board of directors of the Stephen Mitchell Center for Relational Studies and is President-Elect of the International Association for Relational Psychoanalysis and Psychotherapy. Dr. Orfanos maintains an independent practice in New York City.

The music from this article can be heard on our Web site at psychperspectives.com

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“Song of Songs”: Music and a Relational AesFhetic 319 ~ ~ _ _ _ _ _

of times before. Mikis Theodorakis is leading the Greeks once again in mourning and celebration. He is linking Apollo and Dionysus.

This night and the next one are dedicated to dealing with tragedy with song, an old Greek custom, but maybe even a universal one. The songs are all by Theodorakis. For more than seven decades he has composed songs about tragedy and trauma-songs for the concert stage, songs for seashore taverns and village squares, songs for the victims of oppression and torture. He creates songs about bread and wine, and about love and death. He weds his melodies to Nobel Prize-winning poetry and has every intellectual and waiter singing the same songs. He weds art and politics.

It is late in September, and the Athenian taxi drivers still gossip about the cause of the countless catastrophic fires-arsonists motivated by real-estate greed, or is it the Bush administration trying to undermine the Greek olive industry? Even Theodorakis has his suspicions. Weeks earlier he asked that I translate his statement on the matter into English. While I struggled and failed to do justice to the rhythm, tone, and melody of his written words, his daughter, Margarita, was busy produc- ing two historic concerts at the most sacred, most architecturally breath- taking of outdoor concert sites: the Odeon of Herodion Atticus. Margarita Theodorakis produced a fundraiser that proved even the ancient marbles sing her father’s songs. She assembled all the great vocalists in Greece: lyrical voices, jazz voices, rock voices, rural voices, and blues voices. And with her father’s blessings, she invited one young woman from America, Lina Orfanos, my daughter.

The audience knows Theodorakis is in poor health. This night might be the last time they see him. He is their greatest creator. He is also a political hero. He may have an international reputation as a composer of popular and symphonic music, but Theodorakis is a Greek in tem- perament, intellect, and ambition. He set off the cultural revolution in Greece in 1960 with a song cycle about a mother’s lament for her murdered son, and his brave opposition to the military junta of 1967-1 974 is legendary. His activism continues to inspire social and political pro- gressives in a nation that is currently under economic siege. Earlier in this century, the Greek government nominated him for the Nobel Peace Prize for his peace efforts with Turkey.

The performers are all dressed in various shades of black. The audience is in short sleeves and summer dresses, the politicians in suits. Herodion

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320 Spyros D. Orfanos

holds 5,000 people, seated on marble rows. It is now three hours into the concert, and my wife, Sophia, and I are reaching new heights of anxiety. Much earlier in the evening, we wished Lina good luck backstage, as she joined the ranks of the greatest Greek vocalists. She has never performed in front of such a large audience, and while she has a natural stage presence, sophisticated training, and a voice that Theodor- akis himself has called beautiful and suited for his lyrical songs, Sophia and I worry. True to our psychologies, her mother worries that Lina will have stage fright; I worry that she will not hit all the notes dead center. But we both know, too, that this is her destiny, to be on this stage, on this night, with this particular song: “Song of Songs.” We know she will rise to the occasion. That is what Lina does. She is our hero. Lina’s gifts are more cunning than her brain tumor. She is a survivor of 13 years. The tumor, reduced by surgery, nQw lies dormant in her skull. Lina knows trauma.

The master of ceremonies is about to introduce Lina. I have a thought: What if he says she is from the United States? Will the audience disap- prove because of their outrage over the Iraq war? Will they take out their frustrations on Lina? Will they boo her? Will she become flustered? Will she stay on stage? The master of ceremonies announces that Lina Or- fanos is a third-generation Greek from New York City on her father’s side and that her mother is a Polish Jew. The audience applauds as if acknowledging their own immigrant relatives in New York City.

The lights dim, and we see Lina’s silhouette as she walks onto the large stage with the 1 1-piece orchestra composed of classical and folk musicians. Along with her music she is carrying a white handkerchief be- longing to the elderly Bonika Kassoutou Nahmias, one of the few Greek Jews who survived Auschwitz. The long, mournful introduction, a line of sheer beauty, heralds a song that was introduced in 1965 as part of a cycle of songs titled The Ballad ofMauthausen. The song cycle raised the consciousness of all Greeks. Its sublime melodic lines, extended har- monies, and rhythms forced listeners to ask, “What happened to our Jews?” With original text and quotes from the Old Testament, “Song of Songs” is part of a poem cycle about the Mauthausen concentration camp, the Greek Jews and political prisoners it housed and murdered.

How lovely is my love In her everyday dress

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“Song of Songs”: Music and a Relational Aesthetic 321

with a little comb in her hair. No one knew how lovely she was.

Girls of Auschwitz, girls of Dachau.

Did you see my love?

We saw her on a long journey; She wasn’t wearing her everyday dress

or the little comb in her hair.

How lovely is my love caressed by her mother, and her brother’s kisses.

Nobody knew how lovely she was.

Girls of Mauthausen, girls of Belsen.

Did you see my love?

We saw her in the frozen square With a number on her white hand

and a yellow star on her heart.

The song is a true love story about two prisoners. The interpenetration of melody and word make it an extraordinary representation of Eros andThanatos. Iakovos Kambanellis, the poet and the father of contemporary Greek theater, was interned at the Nazi concentration camp of Mauthausen in Austria. Not adhering to Theodor Adorno’s famous dic- tum that it would be barbaric to write lyrical poetry after Auschwitz, Kambanellis wrote his poems in 1964 and in the following year presented them to Theodorakis. The composer worked on them and created songs that have entered the pantheon of acclaimed song cycles.*

1 Translation by Gail Holst-Warhaft. Permission for use and publication granted to Spyros D. Orfanos. ZIn his 1994 anthology, M o h Poems on tbe Bible (Philadelphia: Jewish Publications), the poet David Cunon includes Kambanellis‘s “Song of Songs” and refers to it as one of the most ac- cornpished of contemporary poems based on the Bible and the Holocaust. The second and third songs of The Ballad of Mautbawen tell of hard labor and escape. The final song, “When the War Is Over,” is a fantasy of the lovers’ union.

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322 Spyros D. Orfanos ~~

The Ballad ofMauthazlsen has been sung in Greek, Hebrew, German, and English. It has been performed all over the world, and was featured

. at the 50th anniversary of the liberation of Mauthausen concentration camp.

With a huge screen behind and above the orchestra showing photo- graphic images from the Holocaust, Lina enters the song. Sophia and I clutch hands. After her first words, the audience applauds in recognition. Lina is emotionally expressive but unsentimental. Having taken up a suggestion from me and one approved by Theodorakis, she sings in both Greek and Hebrew. She knows what she is singing about, and she knows that, in part, she is addressing her mother, who was a hidden child during the Nazi terrors in Europe; her father, who wept when he first heard this song and still does; and Theodorakis himself, who once explained that “Pop music helps us forget. Greek music helps us remember.” The audience wildly applauds young Lina twice more as her voice reveals despair and depth. Theodorakis is also applauding. His face reveals admiration, gratitude, and surprise.3

By Way of Music and Meaning

I begin this essay on music and psychoanalysis with this real-world event in order to underscore the immense complexity of grasping what relations exist among musical creativity, performance, and meaning. Words and music, the personal and the political, remembering and for- getting, trauma and recovery, and villains and heroes are all dialectical components of the concert presented that night on the Acropolis. My effort here is to think about music and psychoanalysis in the broadest sense to attempt a consideration of its totality as a complex orchestra- tion. Specifically, I attempt a consideration of a song in relationship to its total historical surrounds (Jameson, 2009) and the various subjec- tivities. In this essay, I am not particularly interested in art for art’s sake.

We know that music has the capacity to mesmerize, excite, and soothe.

3 To see and hear the actual performance of “Song of Songs” on that night, go to: http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=PhtRtquOyOw or visit the website of this journal, http://www.psychperspectives.com. For a voice and piano version of the same song performed by Lina Orfanos, go to psychperspectives.com. A related note of interest is the fact that during the violent demonstrations in December 1944 against the right-wing Greek government and its British supporters, Theodorakis fought in the streets while carrying the Old Testament in his back pocket. It was his favorite book during adolescence.

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It communicates emotions, aesthetics, history, and even philosophy. Yet “music” is an inadequate word to encompass all the forms of culture that can be subscribed to it. Music is not a singular phenomenon with a fully knowable relationship to human biology, mind, and behavior. Rather, it exists as rnusics-diverse, multiple, and unknowable within a relationship to the single unitary framework of scales and notations (Cross, 2003). We are in all likelihood speaking about a multiplicity of activities and experiences. In addition, we are likely speaking about both activity and aesthetics. “Music” is a small word, yet what it signifies is large.

It is uncertain what music “really” is, but one of the things on which we probably do agree, at least some of the time, is that music sounds the way moods feel. The music critic and historian Richard Taruskin (2009) tells us that what is analogized by music is the waxing and wan- ing-the onsets, the peaks, the subsidenc-that characterize the experience of many kinds of feelings. Music often places a high value on fluctuating tensions, chiefly tempo, loudness, and harmonics. Psycho- analytic theorists and clinicians with musical backgrounds have written much about the musical and affective, nonverbal aspects of subjectivity (Knoblauch, 2000,2006; Glennon, 2007).

An additional principle that many might agree upon is that music is performance art. According to Cook (1998), the meaning of music lies more in what it does than in what it represents. But both representation and action are at play, and this is one of music’s unique qualities as a form of art. While the Herodion concert represents much from the past, it is also, in its transactions among the players both on and off the stage, clearly a performance activity. It is not simply representing a reality outside of music; the performance itself also constructs the reality of tragedy and trauma. With “Song of Songs,” Theodorakis captures something deep about how the Holocaust felt, and in turn changed the culture of Gree~e .~ By assigning music to the poetry, he intensifies the words so that the Holocaust can be conceived-by performing “Song of Songs,” Theodorakis and his interpreters further the understanding of the listener, in vivo. Musical performance constructs reality in addition to representing it.

4Think of the 1939 song “Strange Fruit” as performed by Billie Holiday and what it did for American listeners. It resists musical categorization, and its historical importance borders on the revolutionary in the American racial consciousness of its day.

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324 Spyros D. Orfmos ~~

In a similar vein, the composer Igor Stravinsky (1942) argued that there are two states of music: that which has been fured on paper or re- tained in the memory, and music at performance. As for the performer, Stravinsky states,

No matter how scrupulously a piece of music may be notated, no matter how carefully it may be insured against every possible ambiguity through the indications of tempo, shading, phrasing, accentuation, and so on, it always contains hidden elements that defy definition, because verbal dialectic is powerless to define musical dialectic in its totality. The realization of these elements is thus a matter of experience and intuition, in a word, of the talent of the person who is called upon to present the music. (p. 123)

Stravinsky, perhaps unfairly, makes a contrast to the fine and plastic arts whose finished work he feels is usually presented to the public in an always identical form.5

While the sights and scents on the evening of September 29, 2007, were profound, it was the music in the amphitheater, at least for this listener, that highlighted the experience. The feeling was of being in a sonorous envelope. While Lina’s song was plaintive and heralded mourning, I felt pleasure being surrounded by the sounds of “Song of Songs.” The pleasure was in her vocal pragmatics and in the details of the musical structure of the song. This was art. Simultaneously, however, I felt an anxiety about the other space I was in-a space that had elements of entrapment. That is, the personal context of Lina’s physical trauma and the historical trauma represented by the song were horrify- ing to me. Still, this, too, was art. The intermingling of pleasure and horror-what the music critic David Schwarz (1997) refers to as the “crossing of the sonorous envelope”-is what gives music the power to inspire a sense of awe. This is a subjective register that I believe is another of the unique attainments of music. In all likelihood, this subjective register involves a different unconscious aesthetic than painting (Bollas, 1999).

It is true that my experience was enhanced by the Holocaust photo-

~~ ~~ ~

5 This dialectic between intent and actuality is not ekclusive to music. Stephen A. Mitchell (1988) enjoyed using the following story about Stravinsky when teaching clinicians: “He had written a new piece with a difficult violin passage. After it had been rehearsed for several weeks, the solo violinist came to Stravinsky and said he was sorry, he had tried his best, the passage was too difficult; no violinist could play it. Stravinsky said, ‘I understand that. What I am afier is the sound of someone ”ying to play it”’ (p. 293).

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graphs projected onto the huge screen behind the orchestra. The images stimulated my optical unconscious-murder, prejudice, swastikas, trains, emaciated bodies-as these images unfolded in my vision. But it was the sonorous envelope that actually made for my experience of awe. The music created a space for me that crossed the threshold between my clearly bounded body with its own rhythms and my archaic psyche with its memories and hopes. My experience shifted from linear time into something quite different-an unpredictable ebb and flow that was strangely synchronized with past, present, and future. It is too reductive to call this an “oceanic” feeling (Freud, 1959/1930). I was in a different self-state. I was mentally alert and I had goose bumps.

Creativity as a Relational Aesthetic

In the opening address at the inaugural meeting of the International Association of Relational Psychoanalysis and Psychotherapy, composer and psychoanalyst Emmanuel Ghent (2002) spoke about the meaning of the word “relational.” He expressed worry about the tendency to limit the scope of the term “relational” to mean relating between people, thereby excluding all manner of other relations from consideration. For Ghent, who over his professional career evolved theoretically from in- terpersonal psychoanalysis to the British Independent Group to a non- linear dynamic systems perspective, therapeutic action was to be found in the relations among many different things. Specifically, he believed that change is born out of the realization that it is important to recog- nize and appreciate, though not privilege, context, history, and ecol- ogy-all expressions of relations, and relations among relations. Further, Ghent included in this view everything from cellular biology, to cogni- tion and memory in individuals, to societal relations among people and populations, not to mention the highly complex relations that exist between these various realms and levels of context. For psychoanalysis to confine itself to the narrow band of the psychopathological, where inter- human relations clearly play an enormous role, may be misdirected.

It holds, therefore, that a concept of music as simply a structure of notes can hardly be taken seriously. Indeed, the famed cellist Pablo Casals once remarked that “The most important thing in music is not the notes.” Music’s multiple contexts and their relations are all part of what makes it such a triumphant art form. But language has its limits,

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and we cannot address all at the same time, even if all are related. More- over, we have a powerful convention in psychoanalysis of writing about works of art biographically, through the personality of the artist. The problem with this approach is that it can be inadequate from the perspective of the relational aesthetic advocated in this essay. For instance, a basic principle of relationality is that of the interpenetration of the analyst’s subjectivity with that of the patient’s. It is easy for biographers in their personal appraisal of their subject to omit their own subjectivity. A good example of this is psychoanalyst Stuart Feder’s 1992 biography of composer Charles Ives. Consistent with his loyalty to the ego psychology and academic biography of his day, Feder gives little indication of his own subjective responses to Ives, thus depriving the reader of a fuller understanding of his insights and biases as a chronicler of the great composer.

To better address music’s multiplicity of contexts, an interdisciplinary approach is required. Such an approach is akin to that advocated by Altman (2010), in which psychoanalytic and systemic perspectives are combined. Writing about psychoanalysis and community mental health services, Altman advocates a healing of the split between the psychic and the social. He proposes an integration of the psychoanalytic and the systemic. Theorizing about clinical process, Harris (2005) similarly advocates the integration of intrapsychic process with field theories that stress the power of context and relationships. Echoing and extending their work to the arts, I conceptualize music as a set of overlapping relational networks that act as revolving figure-ground phenomena.6

The relational perspective provides a meta-theory of psychoanalysis (Cooper, 2010). As such, it lends itself to the study of creativity, but creativity as a relational activity is a difficult concept to define, especially for music. Gergen (2009), a postmodern theorist highly critical of the individual, bounded self, argues that creativity is an outcome of coor- dinated activities-among human beings and between humans and the world. The action of any person is not a possession of the person alone,

6,411 important creativity-oriented systemic model is that proposed by Mihaly Csikszentmihalyi (1996). His model is compatible with the relational model in that it adheres to the notion of the complexity of individuals and their contexts, as well as the uncertainty of tracing influences. Csikszentmihalyi defines creativity as a novel outcome of the interactions of the individual, the field, and the domain (in Greek music, the domain can be about music philosophy nested in Greek history and Western tradition). The next generation will encounter the novelty as part of the domain they are exposed to, and, if they are creative, they in turn will change it further.

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nor is it the outcome of the forces acting upon that person from elsewhere. It is a manifestation of the coordination among people and their mutual surroundings. Gergen (2009) holds that in addition to the coordination of action, there is also the closely linked relationalgeneration of meaning.

That we have institutions of art training, careers in .art, genres of art, and the like requires a community of meanings-relations among persons in which the relevant discourses of the real and the good are given life. The very idea of “a creative work of art” requires a matrix of meaning in which there is recognition of a tradition, a value placed on deviation (e.g., “progress” or “avant garde”), and distinctions made as to what are proper and prized deviations as opposed to improper or banal. To treat the painter as a creative agent is to suppress the complex array of relationships of which the painterly act is but a single manifestation.. . . Like psychopathology, creativity lies neither within the actor nor the eye of the holder, but with the extended relational process. (p. 61)

Elsewhere I have written that I do not wish to abandon the apprecia- tion for and celebration of unique, individual accomplishments. Our cultural life would be much poorer if we did that. But when creativity is conceptualized, as it is often in the psychoanalytic literature, as a uniquely psychological phenomena (with or without biological sub- strates), we are being one-sided and miss out on so much. Despite the work of the now mostly gone “cultural school of psychoanalysis” of the 1950s and the current relational views on gender, culture, class, history, and language, we have not really understood the “social” unconscious. In my view, by advocating for the most unique and independent within the individual, we dissociate other sides of our “selves” and our experience and wind up favoring these same tendencies within the culture that focus on the bounded self. We embark on a lonely and self-centered search for self (Orfanos, 20 10).

Evidence of extended relational processes can be discovered at the Herodion. For instance, the theme of creativity and .trauma was every- where. One can easily identify a number of traumas: the Holocaust; the national tragedy of the out-of-control fires in the Peloponnese; the internment and beatings suffered by the composer at the hands of the World War I1 fascists; the internment of the poet at Mauthausen; Lina’s life-threatening brain tumor; and her mother’s survival of the Holocaust

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as a hidden child. And then there is the experience of this narrator, who as a very young boy listened to countless retellings of his own mother’s frightening stories about rescuing Greek Jews. Thinking hard about the overlap, the levels within levels of what went on that night at the Hero- dion, leaves me feeling overwhelmed. Yet somewhere in the creative experience there is the important matter of musical art as a way to transcend individual and collective trauma, as a way to heal that which cannot be healed. Pizer (1 998) offers a compelling and lyrical example:

In Sarajevo, in a pedestrian plaza, a grenade was thrown into a crowd of people standing in line at 4 p.m. to purchase bread at the bakery. Twenty-two people, of all ages, were killed. Following this event, each day for 22 days, Vedran Smailovic (of the former Sarajevo Opera) dressed himself in his tuxedo and carried his cello and a chair into that plaza. At precisely 4 p.m. every day, for 22 days, Smailovic played the cello, solo, in the plaza, regardless of machine gun fire, mortar from the surrounding hills, and the risk of further grenade attacks. His repetition.. . told a story and emphasized an event.. . it bore witness to trauma and declared the reality of heartbreak.. . the cellist of Sarajevo, with the metaphoric strength and potential of his music, ren- dered his daily repetition of lament in the plaza for himself and for all who could hear and for all who could not hear. His act of despair was his act of hope, sending his message out to the surrounding hills in the strains of his music. (pp. 134-135)

A Very Short and Selective History of Music and Psychoanalysis

Freud had an unremarkable relationship to music. Given the gregar- ious Vienna of his day, a city that loved its music in all forms, its world- famous opera, its excellent theater, its composers, writers, poets, actors, and actresses, it is of interest that Freud admitted music meant little to him. “I am no great connoisseur of music,” he once remarked to a patient.’ If we sidestep psychoanalytic mischief and reject the idea that there may have been extremely strong motives for Freud to reject this important part of.his culture-motives, as we see below, that might be associated with his early relationship with his mother-we are left with the hypothesis that Freud’s modality of artistic interest (1 959/1908) was predisposed to literature, sculpture, and, to a lesser extent, paintings.

7 Wortis, J. (1954). Fragments ofan anabsis with F r e d New York: Simon and Schuster. Wortis, an American psychiatrist, saw Freud for a short didactic analysis in 1934 and was struck by Freud’s unfamiliarity with composers.

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The unconscious mind for Freud was a fertile place for visual representation of any kind (Barate & Minazzi, 2008; Bergstein, 2010).

The initial Freudian ambience, however, was such that the Wednesday Society did spend considerable time investigating the psychology of great musicians in the process of composing music. One of the founding members of the Wednesday Society, Max Graf, was a musicologist who presented material about “the psychological processes of Beethoven and Richard Wagner in writing music” (Graf, 1942). As the first to apply Freud’s clinical findings and theoretical formulations to musical creativity, Graf noted in 19 1 1 that Wagner produced innovative musical pieces (opera styles) involving new conceptual forms in relation to life’s vicissitudes rather than on the basis of psychopathology. Wagner was understood to be expressing in highly artistic ways his personalized needs and conflicts, and in so doing to transform the very medium of opera.

Psychoanalyst and violinist Richard Sterba (1965), also a member of the Wednesday Society, reviewed the state of music and psychoanalysis up to the 1940s and noted that despite the significance of musical activity for society and culture, relatively little had appeared in the psychoanalytic literature compared with studies of other forms of artistic expression. Basically, music was understood to be a regressive experience during the period of classical psychoanalysis; it had to do with early development, ego boundaries, and narcissistic pleasures. composers wrote music when they had advanced ego abilities and were trying to safeguard against massive threatening regression. In short, sublimation was the explanation for creativity.

With the appearance of Ernst Kris’s 1952 classic, Psychoanalytic Ex- plorations in Art, ego psychology replaced id psychology as the preferred explanation for creativity. Kris coined the ingenious theoretical term “regression in the service of the ego.” Soon after, this concept was cri- tiqued by Ernst Schachtel (1984/1959) in his brilliant treatise Meta- morphosis. Schachtel introduced the importance of affect as a primary motivational condition and thus opened the way for creativity to be ac- counted for by curiosity, environmental stimulation, exploratory activity, and competence.

By the middle of the 20th century, music as a topic for psychoanalysts had lost some of it elevated status. Heinz Kohut was the exception. Prior to developing self psychology, Kohut (1 957) addressed the topic but

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330 Spyros D. O r h o s

did so in fashion typical for his day. That is, he focused on explanations that favored sublimation and ego mastery. Lachmann (2001) points out, however, that Kohut hinted at three novel interfaces between music and psychoanalysis. First, Kohut encouraged analysts to listen to the sounds of the patient’s voice and the music that lies behind the voice. Second, he highlighted the central role of repetitions and rhythm in musical composition, something he also did with the clinical encounter. Lastly, he compared music to “play,” thereby moving away from the dis- charge-reduction model of art. Notwithstanding these tantalizing hints, Kohut’s main contributions to the study of music are undenvhelming.

Pinchas Noy (1968) hypothesized a “primary empathy” in relation to how music affects a listener’s emotions. A person’s response to the recognition of the close similarity of visceral and auditory contours is based on preverbal, prewired sensitivity to another’s emotions. Interestingly, there is support for this concept from current neuroscience (Rose, 2004). Also compatible with the above are Lachmann’s (2001) observations about music and infant research. First, both domains involve rhythms, which help forge powerhl connections on the one hand between composer, performer, and listener and on the other between infant and caretaker. Second, he notes the interactive nature of the participants and their co-constructed regulation of satisfaction and frus- tration. In a compelling analysis of the composer and conductor Leonard Bernstein’s ideas about surface and depth music aesthetics, Lachmann demonstrates the relevance of empirically informed psychoanalysis to music.

Recently, Gilbert Rose (2004) has emphasized affect regulation and trauma. He writes about the healing powers of music and its role in clinical cases of traumatic stress. He concludes that music elicits preverbal internalizations that embody and encode affective memories, con- tributing to affect regulation. In addition, he holds that the affective interplay with music may itself become internalized as a nonverbal affect-regulating presence. In some ways, the work of Rose is cutting-edge in that it engages neuroscience and affective attunement, but ultimately, his theoretical speculations are too grand and his clinical evidence too thin.

Those outside the psychoanalytic world often favor a theory of music derived from the work of Winnicott (Oswald, 1997), who did not ar- ticulate a theory of music but whose notions on transitional objects and

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“Song of Songs”: Music and a Relational Aesthetic 33 1 ~~

phenomena are quite applicable to music. Winnicott included the infant’s use of noises, sounds, and words within his earliest thoughts about transitional phenomena. Extending his ideas, we can view music as a transitional object, not unlike a pillow, a blanket, or a toy. Music can be a way of maintaining a sense of security for the baby when she or he is separated from the mother-tunes, fragments of songs, rhymes, and media noises may be taken along by a child in its quest for independ- ence, to be repeated while playing alone, during moments of solitude, while falling asleep (Winnicott, 1953). Children may also rearrange the sound and rhythm they have heard-a kind of primitive interest in composing new pieces or decomposing the old ones.

As children grow older, certain aspects of music often continue to be mental links or reminders of earlier experiences that have been associated with feelings or states of security, closeness, pleasure, and intimacy. One can observe this introspectively when familiar songs and musical pieces evoke strong memories and emotions of childhood situations. The process may be similar to that of mourning for someone who has been lost forever. The history of music offers numerous examples of the transitional linking properties of musical themes (Pollack, 1978).

In short, the movement in music and psychoanalysis over the past 100 years has been from id psychology to ego psychology to pluralistic explorations. Affect regulation and nonverbal interactions now dominate over the small-grain speculations about music.

Creativity as a Memorializing Aesthetic

Creativity is intimately involved in everyday experiences, in the con- struction and expression of personal and political values. It can also play a role in daily life by preserving the memory of and commemorating significant losses, thereby allowing for mourning. Psychoanalysts find this aspect of daily life of great importance, and in many ways the role they play as witnesses to their patients’ suffering and losses is a memorializing activity.8 Slochower (1 996) reminds us that it is an activity that psychoanalysts have borrowed from life.

I would add art to the list of activities that arouse our memories of wounds-something we have intuitively grasped for centuries. Memo-

* The clinical significance of witnessing and its narrative power has been creatively explored recently by Richrnan (2006) and Stern (2009).

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332 Spyros D. Orhos

rializing art has been with us since the time of the ancient Egyptians, who delighted in architectural commemorations of bulls and goats. We have come to know it from art as diverse as the Vietnam War Memorial in Washington, DC, to the ongoing AIDS Memorial Quilt that began as a community arts project in 1987. The passion that memorializing involves can be found in this century in the intense and angry debates over a memorial at Ground Zero for the victims of the September 11 attacks. I do not believe the lack of a memorial monument at Ground Zero almost a decade h e r the catastrophe is due simply to the failure of management and politics. It is due to the passions unleashed by mourning. Mikis Theodorakis harnessed the passion of mourning for the deep damage done to his country and joined it to his unique com- positional gifts, thereby creating memorializing art of the first order.

Theodorakis’s “Song of Songs’’ was created as the composer was look- ing to move beyond his astonishingly popular “folk” music of the early 1960s. His popularity in Greece surpassed that of the Beatles. The artistic merits of his songs were being debated in all major Athenian intellectual circles because Theodorakis had dared to bridge the gap between high art and low art (mass culture). He did this by wedding sophisticated poetry to the bouzouki, a folk instrument of the lower classes. He wedded the music of the concert halls to music of workers and the poor. Like many creators, he was moving to increasingly complex structures in his work. He would not rest on his laurels and formulaically repeat his compositions for the marketplace. His musical gifis coupled with social and political engagement made for a restless and revolutionary spirit.

Greece lost close to 87 percent of its Jews during the Holocaust, and as a man of the Left, Theodorakis knew that the only organized Greek group that officially and proactively worked to save them from the Nazis was the Communist Party. His historical consciousness was such that he immediately took up the opportunity when presented with the poems by his fellow leftist Kambanellis. He had already laid the ground- work for songs based on poetry and memory, but the Holocaust required different colors and instruments.9 For five years he had caught the ears of the Greeks like few other composers. His public was alert to every new composition he recorded and every concert he gave as if peo-

9 Personal communication, 1/13/95.

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“Song of Songs”: Music a d a Relational Aesthetic 333

ple were thirsty for an art that would transform their cultural identity. The early 1960s were dark days for Greece, largely due to the vacuum in political leadership and the legacies of World War I1 and the Civil War that raged after it. Theodorakis’s publicly stated cultural project of “music for the masses” became prominent in daily life as if feeding the self-esteem of the entire nation. People waited with great anticipation for his new compositions. They paid emotional and intellectual attention. The public was not a passive recipient.

Meanwhile, Theodorakis used an unknown 18-year-old young woman named Maria Farantouri, who was in possession of a powerll coloratura voice. A victim of polio, Farantouri seemed to be more than a simple middle-person between the composer and the audience. As she became legendary over the next four decades, in part for singing the Mauthausen songs, Farantouri, with her large voice and broken body, came to symbolize the nation.10 Interestingly, the narrator of the Mauthausen poems is male, but this did not trouble Theodorakis. Nar- rators crossing gender lines was not unusual for Greek song. In fact, for some of his earlier cycles when the narrator was a mother, Theodorakis used a gruff male singer, and no one seemed to notice. My interpretation of this ordinary practice in Greek musical culture is that the performer’s voice is not necessarily a conduit of the composer but perhaps something deeper and more collective. In the context of a male-dominated society, music can challenge the more typical power and gender arrange- ments and perhaps tap a social, collective unconscious.

Why did Theodorakis decide to set the Kambanellis poems in the first place? “I did this with much pleasure,” he explains, “firstly because I liked the poetry of the texts, and secondly because I was myself locked up during the Nazi occupation in Italian and German prisons, but mainly because this composition gives us the chance to remind the younger generation of history, that history must never be forgotten.. . The Mauthausen Cantata is addressed to all those who suffered under Fascism and fought against it. We must keep the Nazi crimes continually in our minds, because that is the only guarantee and the only way to assure that they are not repeated. And we can see every day that the ghost of Fascism is far from being laid to rest. It seldom shows its real hce, but Fascist cultures and mentalities exist all over the world. For us,

‘0 Farantouri has been called the Goddess Hera for her strength, purity, and vigilance.

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who had to live through this time of horror, the most important task is to protect our children against this peril.”ll

We live in complicated times, and in 2003 Theodorakis was alarm- ingly accused of anti-Semitism. Kambanellis was also accused. Like many other members of the European Left, both men perceive succes- sive Israeli governments as resorting to excessive military force for security. Both are passionate human-rights activists even in their old age and feel strongly that the policy of some Israeli leaders, particularly of the Right, is the oppression of Palestinians and opposition to a two-state solution. But it is Theodorakis, with the more public persona and his stronger ties to the Israeli Left, who has been given the greater attention on the matter.

At a press conference for the launching of a book based on his own poetry, Theodorakis began to berate the then Sharon government. In the presence of Greek government officials he said, “The Jews were at the root of evil.” This statement was then taken out of context and cir- culated through the world and became an extraordinary source of em- barrassment for him and his supporters. Some leaders of the Greek Jewish community tossed it off as the words of an old man.12 When I had the opportunity to confront him about this,*3 he explained in a matter-of-fact tone that his views about the Israeli people are well known, as are his feelings about racism and other forms of hatred. He claimed not to confuse the struggles of a people with the aggression of their government. “True,” he stated, “I did make a poor choice of words and there are segments of Greek society that fan the flames of hatred against the Israelites, but what I said was about Sharon’s oppressive tac- tics-that’s what we were conversing about.” Theodorakis believes it was his duty to raise consciousness about the Holocaust. When he tried to mediate between Yigal Alon and Yasser Arafat in 1972, he also felt it was his duty. It should also be noted that his daughter, Margarita Theodorakis, is a strong and vocal pro-Palestinian supporter. Given Mikis Theodorakis’s committed pacifism, the feelings about Israeli mil-

1 1 Personal communication, 1/11/95. It is of meaning that while Theodorakis wrote his Mauthausen song cycle in 1965, music critics have observed that American composers have only recently composed song cycles about the Holocaust. The first Israeli song cycle was composed in 1988 (Dominus, 2010). It is difficult to know what these ethnoculturd variations mean, but we cannot rule out that it speaks to Theodorakis’s sense of historical responsibility.

l 3 Personal communications, 12/06/04. Joseph Ventura, personal communications, 12/07/04.

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itary aggression can be understood, yet his words may have uninten- tionally fanned old stereotypes. Bracketing political values for the moment, the emergence of a dark and dissociated self in regard to Jews, despite his secularized roots in Byzantine Christian values, cannot be ruled out.

A basic tenet of psychoanalysis is that the past, the present, and the future are created as mutually interacting modes of time and experience. By extension, an individual not only has a history but he or she is history by virtue of memorial activity. The past of an individual can be put to different uses: It can be forgotten, sentimentalized, idealized, fetishized, or memorialized. Governments have frequently found ways of appro- priating their countries’ pasts and, at dangerous times, politicizing the memorial activity. The memorial activities of many of the Greek governments of the 20th century, for one, point to such political uses of the past. Holst-Warhaft (1 992,2000) has argued that mourning, and by implication memorial activity, has often challenged the social and political order. She traces this trend back to the Greece of the sixth century BCE.

The past has been put to use byTheodor&s also, albeit in quite a different way than the repressive Greek governments. Many, if not most, of his great works, such as Symphony No. I (1948-1953), Epitaphios (1960), Mazlthawen (1965), and Symphony No. 7(1982), to name only a few, can be conceptualized as memorial art. These musical works stim- ulate memories and link them to trauma and tragedy. By using ordinary scenes from daily life, they stay close to lived experience. But the ordinary scenes do not just act to recast the past as we remember it; they are also reinserted into the present. They evoke the killings and execution of close friends in the context of the German occupation and the Greek Civil War (Symphony No. I), a mother’s lament for her son killed by the authorities in a tobacco workers’ strike in 1936 (Epitaphios), a number tattoo on the arm of a girl imprisoned by the Nazi death machine (Mazlthawen), and the courage and dignity of Athena, the female partisan, before and during her execution (Symphony No. 7). This memorial music creates a “potential space’’ in which the listener has an opportunity-perhaps even a responsibility-to create his or her own response. In my view, this generates a certain freedom for the listener. He or she is not told what to think and how to react. Theodorakis creates a climate for the lifting of the all too frequent denial and confusion

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Spyros D. Orfanos 336

surrounding such tragic historical events. He stimulates memories that governments often seek to repress, and in the process he memorializes the tragic events and the people involved in such events (Orfanos, 1999).

From a psychoanalytic standpoint, Theodorakis creates an intimate dialogue between himself and the listener. Composer and audience col- laborate to create a memorializing dialogue by way of relational mourning (Harris, 2005). This dialogue affirms the powerful feelings of loss and death. It does not dissociate feelings from thinking, affects from words, It has the effect of holding the feelings of loss in a ritualized and social manner (Slochower, 1996). The music Theodorakis composes serves to intensify the meaning of the words-having the effect, on a collective level, of lifting suppression and healing trauma. It also helps healing on an individual level, not unlike a therapeutic intervention. He does not compose music that is distant, abstract, and inaccessible; for Theodorakis, relationships of the past are to be memorialized, cele- brated, and accepted into the full human narrative glory and tragedy. This generates a freedom for himself and for those who appreciate and participate in his music. Under such conditions, memorializing music is creativity at its most caring and compassionate.

Coda

Backstage afier the Herodion concert, Lina received congratulations from many, including the composer. She was pleased with her performance. She had felt anxious when she first walked onto the stage, but then just dissociated. “I heard everything, the music was clear and I knew what I was doing, but I didn’t know. I think I was on automatic!” she exclaimed. She remembered only that she looked at the composer before and after the song. When the great Maria Farantouri approached her, we, the witnesses, could tell that the moment was pregnant with intergenerational meaning. She kissed Lina on both cheeks and con- gratulated her, saying, “You have the tragic element. In the low ranges,” and pointed her finger to the earth. Then she pointed upward to the bright night sky. “And in the high ranges.”

We are now in the summer days of 20 10, and Lina is singing Theodor- ak is in different parts of Greece. She once again performs “Song of Songs.” She is in even better voice and sings as if the song belongs to

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her and her alone. “It is my song,” she declares. Theodorakis recognizes this and enthusiastically says, “You are getting better and better.” He looks deeply into her eyes and adds, “Singing the Mauthausen songs in Greek and Hebrew is magnificent. The Greek people have difficulty understanding the Hebrew, but it expands their listening.” The composer is content. The performer feels recognized.

At her final summer performance, this time at the 85th birthday celebration for Mikis Theodorakis on July 29, the master of ceremonies introduces Lina to the 4,000 celebrants at the Lycabettus Hill outdoor theater as a “child of the Holocaust.” They applaud respectfully. As she begins “How lovely is my love in her everyday dress.. .” an invisible, trembling wave moves across the theater and settles there amid the listeners. A new circle has been created.

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Documents

“Song of Songs”: Music and a Relational Aesthetic