Kanon, contin'd-Schooling

Maestro Sevanian’s time at the conservatory and, later, touring with the folk ensemble expanded the kanon in a way no one had ever envisioned.

Before I joined the conservatory, no one thought this rural instrument, the kanon, capable of orchestral work.  I remember Mr. Ghevondian’s complaint, “Why do you play with just two fingers?  That’s a very rich instrument.  You can create harmony.”  Anushavan showed me how the kanon could be improved.  He asked me to play the melody line with one hand.  With the other, he wanted me to produce an accompaniment.

This turned me to composing, because no music was available for the change in instrumentation.  Ter Ghevondian taught musical theory, too, and he helped me expand the Armenian folk melodies I’d been playing by ear.  I started to produce written accompaniment for the folk tunes I wanted to play.  Since I love the sound of the kanon, I worked out harmonies that would highlight its characteristic sound.  With Ghevondian’s help, I was creating a new sound. 

I got so involved trying to write harmonies, my regular class studies suffered. Like all school children, I had to learn other subjects like math, language and history. When something didn’t interest me, I would doodle in the margins of my notebooks.  My teacher caught me making musical notations.  He warned me, and when I still didn’t mind, he called my father in.  He was stern. “Your son isn’t paying attention in class. He’s always writing music. Tell him to stop.”  Luckily, my father didn’t get angry.  He just insisted that I do well in all subjects.  I promised to listen to my teachers, but it didn’t stop me from scribbling music notes.

When melodies come to mind, a musician has to put them down right away, or he’d forget them.  There were so many new ideas in my head, and the more I thought about them, the more I wanted to get them on paper.  One popular melody that I worked out was written by a well-known sixteenth-century Armenian troubadour, Sayat Nova. It’s called “Tarametzav.”  Like memories of my childhood, it translates to “Faded.”  The music is sad, but I knew it would lend itself to the difficult passages that could show off the kanon’s technical range.  I wanted to use it for school functions.

Like most music schools, Yerevan Conservatory arranged concerts for students so that they could exercise their abilities before the public.  Audiences that came to school events were surprised to hear the kanon’s expanded range.  They wanted to hear more. The conservatory, as a result of students’ success, connected its promising musicians with professionals to further their education and public exposure.  Group work demands discipline.  In an orchestra, for example, you have to listen to cues and watch the conductor.  It takes work to maintain tone and rhythm and keep time with other instruments.  It’s an honor when a student is chosen for professional work.

A group of professional musicians who’d heard about my work with the kanon came to the conservatory looking for a kanonist.  They wanted the kanon in their folk ensemble.  My teachers encouraged me, “Go with them.”  The ensemble hired me and I started to work with them on weekends or during school holidays.  I had to leave Darachichak and family behind, because I toured with them all summer.