Monday, February 14, 2022
Karolina Cicha: Karaite Kid
Having recorded albums in Yiddish and Tatar, and songs in most of Poland’s minority tongues, Karolina Cicha talks about the Karaite people and their language
Karolina Cicha & Company ©Piotr Spigiel
Singer and accordionist Karolina Cicha is a remarkable figure in Polish music who’s created a rich and singular path for herself. In 2013 she released an album with Bart Pałyga called Wieloma Językami (Nine Languages), on which she sang in Polish as well as the minority languages of the country, including Lithuanian, Belarusian, Ukrainian, Romani, Yiddish and Tatar. Yet it seems she missed one out, namely Karaim, the language of the Karaite.
“I didn’t find the Karaite, they found me,” she says. She followed Wieloma Językami with a whole album in Yiddish and then one in Tatar. “I’m becoming a minority musician on call in Poland. It started with my Tatar album. Adam Dubiński appeared, president of the Karaite Legacy Foundation, and said, ‘we speak a similar language close to Tatar and maybe you’d be interested in working with us’.” But Cicha didn’t have time for such a project until the virus came along and all her concerts were cancelled. Suddenly she had time to do the research.
The Karaite originate in Crimea on the Black Sea and, as Dubiński said, speak a Crimean Turkic language related to Turkish. While the Tatars are Muslim, the Karaite religion comes from Judaism. They don’t define themselves as Jewish, but the Torah is their holy book. They were invited in the 14th century by Witold (or Vytautas in Lithuanian), the grand duke of Lithuania, to be his bodyguards and translators – they had considerable skill considering that they knew Hebrew, Turkish and the local languages where they were living. They were required to defend Witold’s castle in Trakai on an island in Lake Galvė in what became the Polish-Lithuanian Commonwealth. Trakai, about 30km south-west of Vilnius, was where most of the Polish-Lithuanian Karaites (or Karaim as they’re called in Slavic languages) were and are based.
The opening track on Karolina Cicha’s new album, Karaimska Mapa Muzyczna (Karaim Musical Map), reviewed in the December 2021 issue (#173), is ‘Troch Szaharda’ (In the Town of Trakai). Its melody is Turkish- or Balkan-sounding and she’s assembled a trio of fine musicians playing Middle Eastern instruments: Mateusz Szemraj on the saz, oud and cimbalom; Karolina Matuszkiewicz on the bowed kemençe and violin; and percussion from Patrycja Betley. The Karaite population fled raids by Russian soldiers in the early 20th century and many returned to Crimea. When they returned after World War I they brought the Oriental melodies back with them. The song is a love story, Cicha explains, “saying [that] Lake Galvė is rising from the tears of a man crying after his girlfriend was promised to another.” It is by the Karaite poet Szymon Firkowicz.
Cicha was assisted a lot in her work by Mariola Abkowicz, president of the Polish Karaim Association. “Mariola and I were choosing the songs. They all have a geographical reference to places where Karaites were living, which is why it’s called a ‘musical map.’ She gave me archive recordings of traditional parties and gatherings to give me an idea of how they sing the songs.” Abkowicz also introduced her to the Karaite community in Lithuania to win their trust and to make recordings for a ‘roots’ album of traditional songs from Trakai, which comprise the second disc of the double-album. Several songs appear on both the roots album and on Cicha’s recording. It was premiered in Wrocław on October 7 and has had several other performances in Poland.
“The Karaite took musical inspirations from the cultures where they were living,” explains Cicha. “There were some living in Halicz [on the Dniester River] who took inspiration from the Ukrainian traditional music around them. I did some research to find those songs and often they’d just copied Ukrainian, Lithuanian, Polish or Russian melodies and put them in Karaim and interpreted them as Karaite songs.” ‘Galvieniń Kyryjynda’ (On the Shore of Galvė) is based on a Ukrainian original and ‘Kiuzdiahi Bahda’ (In the Autumn Garden) is in the style of a Russian romance. ‘Bir Elimde Kemanem’ (Kemençe in My Hands), a song about the power of music, also has a Crimean flavour and features a nice kemençe solo to underline the story.
The second song on the album, ‘Ijisi Baraskinin’ (The Smells of Friday), also appears on the roots record, sung by Dominyka Kobeckyte. It goes deep into Karaite food. “It’s about how the Karaite prepare for Saturday, their holy day. How they make traditional food, what the street smells like and how these foods are associated with memories of childhood.” Are specific foods mentioned? “Oh yes, kybyn, a sort of traditional pasty stuffed with meat. Very tasty. When we do a concert in Trakai next year we’ll prepare traditional food. I’m looking forward to see how we hear the music when we taste the kybyn.”
The Karaite religious building is a kenesa and there are active ones in Trakai and Vilnius, both beautiful buildings. While the latter was used as a storehouse during the Soviet period, the one in Trakai, built in the late 19th century, has continuously kept operating as a place of worship. The number of Karaites is small, with only around 200 in Poland, 350 in Lithuania and 2,000 globally in Turkey, Israel and the US.
One song on the second disc, ‘Syjyt Jyry Sahynczyna Kyrancznyn’ (Funeral Song to Commemorate the Plague) Cicha couldn’t include on her album because it’s a ritual song to be performed in the cemetery that can only be delivered by men. “It was sung in 1710 during remembrance of people who’d died during an epidemic in Trakai, so though it’s very old, it’s also topical.”
Another significant song Cicha mentions is a lullaby called ‘Jukła Uwłum’ (Sleep My Child). “A mother hopes her child will love everybody with all their heart and that Trakai will be in their heart all their life. It’s like a universal love to all people but reminds you about your Karaite identity. It shows they feel very Karaite, as well as being good citizens of Poland or Lithuania, or any country where they live.”
This article originally appeared in the January/February 2022 issue of Songlines magazine. Never miss an issue – subscribe today