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Our Fathers' Music: Tambura in St.Louis
| Article
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17478 |
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Section : |
CULTURE
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| Issue
Date : |
3 / 1998 |
2,392 Words |
| Author
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Dan Marshall
Dan Marshall is a freelance writer based in St. Louis. |
When I started attending Holy Trinity in St. Louis, it took a while to become oriented--to know when to cross myself, who was married to whom, and how to kiss someone on the cheek without catching my glasses behind theirs. But once I moved beyond that, I picked up some of the less obvious details, including the name tambura.
A complex, emotive, and snappy music, tambura soars from black speakers behind a wooden bar and regularly fills our church hall. During one feast day, the tamburitza orchestra Becari (Be-cha-ri) performs. Tightly crafted, fast-paced melodies rise from a decidedly minor key through close-harmony, a cappella singing. I listen across a plate of roasted lamb, my ears mellowed by a shot of slivovitz (plum brandy). As the music embraces me, I imagine myself in a small Serbian village. The Serbs crowding around Becari, it seems, feel the same way.
From the black-haired mother rocking her two-year-old with the beat to the bunch of middle-aged men cradling Budweisers, the entire group almost swims in the music. An enthusiastic elderly spectator steps forward, impales a twenty-dollar bill on the tuning key of Ken Ban's prima--the small, pear-shaped instrument that plays the lead or countermelody--and requests an old favorite.
Ban flips through his music to find the words of "Backo Kolo"--a folk dance from the city of Backo--and cues the band. The man who asked for this song throws an arm over his neighbor's shoulder and joins in the singing. Melancholy yet somehow joyful, the melody clearly transports him to a pleasant, emotional place in his
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