Spotlight: Warsaw Street Music

It’s 2024. The open-air stage is set in Łazienki, a famous Warsaw park with a history dating back to the 16th century. All the deck chairs are occupied so audience members spread blankets on the lawn and stand wherever they can. Warszawskie Combo Taneczne (Warsaw Dance Combo) are launching their 14th anniversary concert with an instrumental take of ‘Warszawianka’, or ‘La Varsovienne’, as the original title was written in French by poet Casimir Delavigne, who was expressing solidarity with the November Uprising (the anti-Russia revolution of 1830-31 which was launched in a building next to the concert stage). Without any direction, the audience stands and begins to sing. There is a touch of ‘La Marseillaise’ about the song with its chorus of ‘Hey, whoever is Polish, fix bayonets!’, performed in the ultra-Polish tempo rubato, as it flows through the park.

The concert also marked the anniversary of the Warsaw Uprising, which was instigated by Poland’s Home Army (AK) on August 1, 1944 to liberate Warsaw from German occupation during World War II, as well as sending a message to the encroaching Soviets. For the youngest generation of Polish resistance fighters this was their first conscious experience of freedom. A distinct number of songs were created during that time, ‘Sanitariuszka Małgorzatka’ (Nurse Maggie) and ‘Marsz Mokotowa’ (March of Mokotów) being just two. The memory of the uprising was suppressed during communist rule, but it has grown in significance since Poland’s return to democracy in 1989.

In 2010, Polish musician Jan Emil Młynarski, 31 at the time, was asked to prepare a concert to commemorate August 1. He recalls the event and what it led to: “I had been performing local Warsaw songs since my teens, with the guitar around the campfire, with no agenda. For that concert, I gathered my schoolmates, and we played just ten songs. However, what happened with the audience mesmerised me… people, especially the old ones, were singing, dancing. They came to talk after the show, [they] were very moved. On that day, I decided that we will form a combo and learn to play it all properly, in true Warsaw style.”

In 2024, Warszawskie Combo Taneczne are nine people on stage, recreating the sound described in the old slang of local musicians as kołomyja, meaning a free-spirited, vibrant style of playing. There’s banjola (a mandolin with the body of a banjo) and a regular banjo. More rhythm-oriented are a guitar and double bass. There are wind instruments: trumpet plus a saxophone or clarinet. And accordions: old school three-row Polish harmonia and the modern regular piano-model by Weltmeister. Plus, the Combo’s secret weapon: a saw played with a bow by Anna Bojara, the only woman on stage, which adds a psychedelic vibe.

“I remember once, in the 80s, as a kid, entering Chmielna Street on a walk with my father [Wojciech Młynarski], a famous singer. There was a large group of musicians. They spotted him and started to perform his most popular song.” This is Młynarski talking about what was likely one of the last line-ups of Orkiestra Uliczna z Chmielnej (Chmielna Street Orchestra), which he describes as “the grandest of the street bands.” Orkiestra was launched in 1928 by the Jaworski brothers, from Powązki, a tiny neighbourhood in the north of the Środmieście district, famous for its old cemetery, Warsaw’s equivalent of Paris’ Père-Lachaise. Orkiestra survived the Nazi occupation – when performing a Polish repertoire on the street was illegal and punished with arrest, torture or death. “It’s brilliantly pictured in the first Polish post-war feature film, Zakazane Piosenki [Forbidden Songs, 1946]”, says Maciej Klociński, the author of a new biography on Orkiestra. “Live music was crucial to keep people’s spirits up,” he adds.

The response to Warszawskie Combo Taneczne in 2024 is a reflection of that which Orkiestra Uliczna z Chmielnej once received. The Combo have certainly taken their lessons from the past by playing with veteran local musicians like Jerzy Jastrzębski, Orkiestra’s accordionist, and researching archival recordings and texts. The Combo also play some of the same repertoire, in addition to songs made famous by Stanisław Grzesiuk.

In 1940, aged only 22, Grzesiuk was arrested and sent to work as a slave in Germany; while there, he beat up a German farmer and tried to escape. He was now sent to the Dachau concentration camp, later being transferred to a camp in Gusen. It took him hundreds of cigarettes – each of which was worth half a loaf of bread – and various deals to get a banjola – made from a stool, a dog’s skin and the neck of a mandolin. In a talk recorded by Polish Radio, Grzesiuk remembers this period: ‘I didn’t like the tragic, sad camp songs describing our suffering. In Gusen I’ve established a professional band and I was the only amateur there. We played only Polish melodies. In 1943 my colleagues composed a march, ‘Marsz Gusenowski’, the camp’s march, that we played and sang only [on] the last verse. “The thunder has already died down, and the world is changing its face / The father’s home awaits us for our return.” We also added the melody of “Hey, whoever is Polish, fix bayonets!” but once we got leaked information of a denunciation [when the SS discovered they were playing the song], we stopped.’ Grzesiuk was liberated on May 5, 1945 by US soldiers. Shortly afterwards, he commemorated this by painting on his banjola skin ‘KL-Gusen 1940-1945’ along with a cartoon of Mickey Mouse playing a banjo. He left the camp with his instrument, and tuberculosis, from which he would die in 1963, at the age of 45.

But before that, Grzesiuk became a star. In 1958 he published his first book, Pięć Lat Kacetu (Five Years in Concentration Camps), a striking description of his life in the Nazi camps. His second book, Barefoot but in Spurs, was published shortly after; it was a story of his childhood and featured the darkest tales from his district, Czerniaków, of prostitutes, thieves, murder and violence. During many public readings from his books, he sang and played childhood songs on his banjola, leading to the release of an album, Nie Masz Cwaniaka Nad Warszawiaka (There are No Sly Dogs Like People from Warsaw), shortly before his death. It’s an intimate record, Grzesiuk singing with a street-style baritone, his banjola offering a melancholic, plucked sound. The only accompaniment comes from Jerzy Skokowski on guitar. Sometimes categorised as schlager, Grzesiuk’s recordings are closer to fado, his voice alive with emotion, which is even more the case on live recordings later released by Polish Radio.

In 2018, Warszawskie Combo Taneczne were preparing a record to commemorate Grzesiuk on what would have been his 100th birthday. “I had a weird idea, that it would be great to touch Grzesiuk’s instrument or whatever remained of it,” remembers Młynarski, who arranged to meet a granddaughter of Grzesiuk. Surprisingly, she was living in her grandfather’s flat and the instrument was exactly where it always was, on top of Grzesiuk’s wardrobe in a very good state. With the permission of the family, and after a little repair, the Combo released Sto lat Panie Staśku! (Happy Birthday, Stanisław!) in 2018 with Młynarski playing Grzesiuk’s instrument.

‘If you want to fight us, buy a coffin first,’ are the final words of the title song on Grzesiuk’s debut album; they describe the spirit of rebuilding Warsaw, as after all the horrors of World War II, 85% of the left bank city was destroyed. The process took billions of Polish złoty in paid labour and materials, millions of working hours by volunteers and decades to finish. “And the mental rebuild is still in process,” says Młynarski. The great news is that he’s not alone in this process. Warszawska Orkiestra Sentymentalna are another professional local group, focused more on a pre-WW2 revue and cabaret. Młynarski himself explores the heritage of Polish jazz bands in the Młynarski-Masecki Jazz Band; together with avant-garde pianist Marcin Masecki they deliver breathtaking interpretations of ragtimes and tangos. Launched by the Zimończyk siblings, the Orkiestra Taneczna Bonanza is another group that plays both rural oberek dances and dancing tunes from the city. Nicponie, a male quartet, launched their career performing at bazaars around the city during the pandemic and they explore what a street band of the 21st Century can be.

Late is better than never – Warsaw’s street music is back.

This article originally appeared in the December 2024 issue of Songlines. Never miss an issue – subscribe today