Corrections or additions?

This article by Elaine Strauss was prepared for the December 6,

2000 edition of U.S. 1 Newspaper. All rights reserved.

Romania’s Music Legacy

With the sure swiftness of an artist sketching a

spreading

landscape, Carmen Mateiescu pencils in the outlines of roughly 15

centuries of Romanian art music. An ethnomusicologist, she lists three

main sources for the music of her country — folklore, Byzantine

chant, and Western music.

Selecting from diverse Romanian musical roots, Mateiescu has organized

a concert for voice, violin, and piano to take place Saturday,

December

9, in Bristol Chapel on the campus of Westminster Choir College.

Performers

include sopranos Aurora Micu-Penna and Maria Tegzes; pianists Rebecca

Bruccoleri, Geoffrey Burleson, J.J. Penna, and Elena Panova; and

violinist

Milena Dawidowicz. The concert concludes with traditional Romanian

Christmas carols. A reception follows the music.

Mateiescu is head of the theory and music history department at the

Westminster Conservatory. She is also a lecturer at Rutgers’ Mason

Gross School of the Arts. We meet in her office on the Douglass

College

campus. She is slender, with shoulder-length dark hair and a sunny

presence. She stresses the richness of the Romanian musical heritage

and its ancient roots.

That a distinctive Romanian style survives is remarkable. Romanian

history for the last two millennia has been an uneven playing field.

The terrain has seen a parade of invaders with a taste for oppression

— Romans, Mongols, Turks, Germans, and Russians — march in

and supplant the domestically generated chaos.

The oldest layer of Romanian music was laid down in rural villages,

where the Celts left their legacy as they passed from east to west

in the early Middle Ages, says Mateiescu. She quotes an American

critic:

"Romania is a dinosaur in terms of traditional culture in

Europe."

For an ethnomusicologist, that’s a bonanza.

The preserved village traditions originate with events in the agrarian

calendar, such as the first day of sowing, plowing, or gathering

crops,

and the winter solstice; or events in the life cycle, such as weddings

or funerals. Each village, she says, has its own array of dance and

song for particular occasions.

Despite Communist efforts to overturn tradition during a half century

of hegemony, its impact on traditional music was limited. The atheist

regime took no initiatives to work within the tradition. On the

contrary,

old usages were frozen, in a manner that Rip van Winkle would have

recognized. "When I was a student the prohibition against

Christmas

carols had recently been lifted," Mateiescu says. "Normally,

young unmarried men would form bands of carolers. When I went to

villages

to collect carols, we saw groups of men around age 45 caroling. It

was the last generation that had been permitted to do so."

Where farms were collectivized, Romanian communist

leaders

wiped out long-established folk customs; traditions continued in

uncollectivized

regions. "The peasants forced to give up their lands to collective

farms were not allowed to celebrate religious holidays," Mateiescu

says. "That altered traditions. In areas where collectivization

was not possible, the hilly regions around the Carpathians, traditions

could be preserved."

Ironically, the Communists unwittingly buttressed traditional village

musical arts by staging competitive festivals, and turning to

ethnomusicologists

to help. While the Communists saw the contests as a way to undermine

old habits, ethnomusicologists used them as a means of rescuing them.

"There were competitions for singing, instrumental performance,

and dance," Mateiescu says. "The ethnomusicologists persuaded

the contestants to preserve and include tradition; they made up the

juries who awarded prizes. It was satisfying to see that young girls

would go to their home village and ask old women for songs to

sing."

"Changes under capitalism in the last 10 years had a greater

impact

on music than the Communist changes," says Mateiescu. "I have

seen in three years the change from a conservative, traditional

village

with a strong musical tradition to one where you find Coca Cola and

bingo. Today kids who live in towns include rock-and-roll when they

return to their home village to be married. An important event on

a holy day that used to last from the afternoon on is now relegated

to the evening. These are steps to dissolution, say the musicologists.

But there’s such a wealth of folk material that even though it’s

thinning

out, there’s plenty left for researchers and enthusiasts."

For the second source of Romanian art music, Byzantine chant, ample

material of high quality is also available, according to Mateiescu.

"Ritual songs are preserved better in Romania than in other

area,"

she says. "People don’t change their rituals. In Bucharest

churches

the music is as close to authentic Byzantine music as you can

find."

The third stream from which Romanian art music developed, Western

European musical traditions, is its most recent source. A conservatory

and symphony orchestra in the Romanian capital Bucharest came soon

after Romania’s independence from Turkey in 1881. Probably the

best-known

representative of the western stream in Romania is composer George

Enescu, who lived from 1881 to 1955, and included traditional Romanian

elements in his works.

Regardless of genesis, a tell-tale profile infuses Romanian music,

Mateiescu says. She labels it heart-warming, exciting, rhythmic, and

vibrant, with much dance melody. Romanian song, she says, "is

a very personal expression, at ease, deep, and emotional." The

rhythmic subdivisions of Romanian music, she says, are often five

or seven, rather than the familiar two or three familiar in the West;

these unfamiliar metric foundations furnish, for western ears, an

exotic tension. (The hypnotic appeal of Dave Brubeck’s "Take

Five"

is tied to its meter of five beats.) Romanian musical scales, rather

than having the seven steps common in the West, may consist of three

to six pitches.

Mateiescu, who came to the United States in 1986, found a detectable

Romanian presence in New Jersey. The first Romanians, she says, came

to Trenton in the early 1800s, and worked for Roebling. They

established

three churches in Trenton, and their descendants are among present-day

congregants. Since the fall of Communism in 1989, the Romanian

community

in the Princeton area has increased with the emigration of

intellectuals,

artists, musicians, architects, and engineers. Westminster

Conservatory

counts five Romanian musicians among its faculty.

Born in Bucharest, Mateiescu, 47, talks proudly of its civic

traditions.

The river port, which established a flourishing trade in the 15th

century, became a refuge for intellectuals, politicians, and religious

people from all over Balkans. By the early 1600s it was a publishing

center. Today, with about 2 million people, Bucharest is almost 10

times as large as the second largest Romanian city.

Mateiescu’s earliest musical experience was the singing of her mother,

a Romanian language teacher, who had studied music. She stayed home

to bring up her two children, and included an encyclopedic range of

children’s songs in her child-rearing. Mateiescu’s father was an

engineer.

Music was part of the family life. There were classical music programs

on radio. Mateiescu’s brother, now a systems engineer in Bucharest,

studied violin. She studied piano. Recitals punctuated their

childhood.

After attending a special high school devoted to music,

she went on to study composition, theory, and piano at Romania’s major

national conservatory in Bucharest, graduating in 1976. Her piano

teachers were all students of Florica Musicescu, the teacher of Dinu

Lipatti, whose untimely death was greatly mourned in the West. He

had mastered the ideals of piano playing that Mateiescu’s teachers

tried to impart. "They had a great concern with tone quality,

relaxed playing, and the most appropriate sound for each piece,"

she says. "They cared about beauty of sound, and a round tone.

They paid attention to both the detail and the broad outline of a

piece."

From 1981 to ’84 Mateiescu followed in the footsteps of Bela Bartok,

visiting villages to collect folk music. In 1986 she came to the U.S.

with her husband, Cezar, a builder of lutes and guitars.

Mateiescu remembers that two main surprises marked her arrival here.

Having been trained in British English, American speech sounded

strange

to her. The second problem delayed her doctoral work. "I learned

that I had to have a Ph.D. to teach in an American university,"

she says. "But I didn’t know about American flexibility, and I

didn’t know I could attend part time."

She started at Rutgers’ Mason Gross School in 1990. "It was a

tough time," she says. "Besides my graduate work I had two

children and 50 music students." Mateiescu’s sons, Constantin

Nicoara, 15, and Matthew Pavel, 13, live with her and her husband

in West Windsor.

For her doctoral dissertation in 1997, Mateiescu she wrote an opera

and a theoretical essay based on the traditional Romanian tale,

"Youth

Without Age and Life Without Death."

Her most consuming hobby at the moment is distinctly at odds with

her growing up in a Russian satellite nation. "I do a lot of

reading

in Eastern Orthodox spirituality," she says. "I was raised

as an atheist, but I started to turn to religion after my mother’s

death, when I was 25. Western Christianity is sort of diluted and

washed out. It has lost its mysticism, deepness, true relation to

God, and connection to other religious traditions of world."

Her favorite author is St. Maximus the Confessor, the seventh-century

monk. She selects an extended passage from his "One Hundred

Chapters

on Love," to epitomize his ideas. "Love for God is the main

commandment because from it stem all desirable inclinations of the

soul: peacefulness, confidence, self-control, patience, and tolerance

for the others’ passions… The one who loves God cannot help but

love also every man as himself even though he is displeased by the

passions of those who are not yet purified."

"I’m not yet very advanced," Mateiescu says. "I’m trying

to find time and peace of mind to meditate. With prayer, meditation,

and a purified life you can get into a state where you are in touch

with God’s energies. You have to persevere; it takes discipline. It

takes a whole life. I try to treat everyone with patience. My students

benefit." And so does a journalist who comes into her serenely

cheerful presence.

— Elaine Strauss

Music of Romania, Westminster Choir College, Bristol

Chapel, 609-219-2001. Faculty recital arranged by Carmen Mateiescu,

$7. Saturday, December 9, 8 p.m.


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