Despite the fact that I was born with two left feet and sing off-key, I have always loved music and admire (and begrudge) gifted dancers and musicians. And whenever I see young, pretty girls dancing to the beat of brilliant music makers I am crushed with envy and longing for that talent for which the gods have forsaken me.
There was a three-quarter moon on June 15, the night I first saw the musical group SANDA play at Dumbadze Theatre in Tbilisi. The program that evening consisted of three sets: English folk rock, Georgian folk music, and a full-on electric set which included some new songs the band played live that night for the very first time. The electric set was somewhat less melancholy than the tender love songs that won through the acoustic set, although the bittersweet ‘Don’t Carry On’ and ‘Play the Game’ both contained unruffled elements of passion.
SANDA’s lush melodic textures are perfectly suited for songs about unrealized dreams and relationships falling apart. And there lies the rub. Music is a tough business. In spite of winning wide acclaim at international music festivals in the late 1990s, the group disbanded in 1997 and was absent from the music scene for 10 years due to insufficient sponsorship. And today, with the pace and direction of the entertainment industry being transformed by digital challenges to both live and recorded music, the economic hurdles are ever more exacerbated. Pecuniary obstacles tend to restrict bands that are financially unable to advertise widely to gain public exposure and backing.
Most advertising elements used to promote musical ideas or to share emotions in the entertainment marketplace are generally impersonal, one-way means of mass communication. Because they provide no opportunity for direct feedback, the way a live performance in front of a loyal audience does, music advertising cannot easily adapt to the changing preferences of the public at large. Money, or more properly, the lack of it, may be the dependent variable in determining a group’s success, regardless of their true artistic value. So, to keep pace, SANDA have recently uploaded segments of their recent concerts on myvideo and www.myspace.com/sandageorgia. (A full version of their first album, Return, is also available at www.lastfm.com and www.avoe.ge.)
SANDA, their name taken from the Inca Sanda Qula meaning ‘goddess of the rising sun’, was founded over a decade ago by composer and electric keyboardist Irakli Lomsadze, drummer Dima Asaturoff, sound producer Joseph Sakvarelidze on guitar and vocals, and singer-songwriter Natia Namgalauri. And although several different guitarists have come and gone over the years, the band today also includes Ivane Khimshiashvili on bass, Zura Lanchava on electric and acoustic guitars, Vaja Mamatelashvili on violin, and (newest member of the band) Ketty Jokhadze on the cello. Though the violin and cello arrangements could reasonably be described as adding an ‘orchestral’ quality to the music, the fact that Vaja and Ketty play with electric pick-ups on their instruments amplifies the bold companionship of their contributions.
This summer the band will be working on a DVD recorded live during their recent concert at Dumbadze Theatre. This fall, SANDA plans to finish a second album of grunge and electro music. Despite their talent, while they continue to look for additional financial backing, the band rehearses and records in a homemade studio they built in the basement of Irakli’s flat with their own money. It’s a small but intimate space, with sound proofing Persian rugs on the walls and floors.
The mood of many SANDA love songs are tender and serene, yet the way Natia and Joseph sing the lyrics doesn’t undercut the rhythmic punch of the music either. Natia’s vocals feel like the sun breaking through on a cloudy afternoon. And backing vocalizations from Irakli and the others are often layered over the rhythm of Dima’s electric drums and Ivane’s insistent bass line.
Most of SANDA’s original music is written and composed by Natia and Irakli, with other members contributing to the arrangements and vocal support. The compositions usually begin with the music, and then Natia writes the lyrics to go with the sounds. But this is not always the case. At rehearsal the other evening, when I asked how long it usually takes for them to write a song, they said anywhere between three minutes and three weeks. “You can write a song in as little as three minutes?” I asked. Then Irakli asked me to write a lyric and they would write me a song. So, I took another hard pull on the bottle of double-distilled chacha and quickly wrote this stanza on the back of a napkin:
Her hair and eyes are so black
They’re almost blue
Georgian girl she’s telling lies
As if they’re true.
Georgian girl is a wonder
to behold, so
I go along whatever
Lies I’ve been told.
Before the ink was dry, Irakli had hammered out a few bars to accompany the words I gave him. Vaja started to sing and hum the lyrics and added a melody on his violin. One or two tries again from the top and Ketty picked up her cello and came in low. True to their word, in less than three minutes we had our song, ‘Georgian Girl’ half-written with little ornamentation and no showing off. All we needed now was a few more lines, a chorus, and a middle-eight.
There’s something about genuinely great music that resonates from heart to heart. SANDA’s rehearsals are a family and friends affair. We all sit around and listen to the music with bright and dreamy looks in everyone’s eyes that match the musical interludes. It was getting late the other night and Irakli’s children needed to be put to bed. Everyone there was singing along and swaying to the music as the light faded in the sky outside. As I said “good night” Vaja laid down his bow, took a girl in his arms, and danced with her while Irakli played variations on themes by Oscar Petersen and Frederic Chopin. Even I was smiling, although the women I was with asked me why I seemed so bitter. The music was more optimistic than I was.
by Dr. Peter Chiaramonte, Tbilisi
Discussion about this post