From the Oral Tradition to Written Music and Vice Versa: How the Performance of Byzantine Church Music Gives Rise to Different Identity Practices

This article examines the role of Byzantine music as a “scene/platform” on which an individual can fully “perform” their identity, affording it full expression. [1] This notion is based on my personal involvement in this practice, which has afforded certain insight into the ways Byzantine sound creates a dialogue between participants/performers and the world. Byzantine sound is a type of religious music that “circulates” between two poles: the oral tradition and the written tradition of Byzantine church music. Our ongoing dialogue is oriented by this specific polarity within the cosmography of Byzantine music, becoming a lively and creative discussion in which different social identities interact with each other, trying to take a stand and accept the challenge of performing the Byzantine sound—in other words, to be unique.

Keywords: Byzantine church music, performance, orality, polarity, identity.

“Anthropologists are storytellers. We tell stories: other’s stories, our own stories, stories about other’s stories.” [2] But isn’t this a kind of ongoing dialogue between anthropologists, between people studied by anthropologists, between people who read the accounts told by the anthropologist? Isn’t it the dialog that can only take place in a civil society? And if indeed there is a dialogue that evolves somewhere out there, maybe we can listen to its echo with a sympathetic ear.

In addition to historical musical insight, the anthropological approach of this paper includes observation, participation, informal conversations, and interviews. As an anthropologist myself, and a Byzantine church music chanter, whether as a soloist or as a member of a choir, I have had the opportunity over the past thirty years of gaining an inside view. I started exploring Byzantine music in Belgrade (Serbia), and twenty years ago I continued to deepen my practical and theoretical knowledge in Athens (Greece). For more than a decade I have been dealing with the relationship between oral tradition and written music, as well as how different identities emerge from the performance of church music. In this paper, we will highlight how individuals can find their way through the oral and written traditions of Byzantine music, which ultimately results in musical performance.

Byzantine church music is an all-embracing discourse that, [3] sometimes quietly and sometimes more distinctly, accompanies the life cycle of people living in societies where the Christian Orthodox church is dominant. This life cycle begins with baptism, continues through marriage, and ends with the funeral and commemoration services. Byzantine music also permeates and accompanies the annual cycle of feasts: Easter, Christmas, name days, church feast days, and festivals.

By Byzantine music we mean the church music that goes all the way back to the origins of the Eastern Roman Empire and has continued to develop in religious services still practiced today in Orthodox churches, evolving in accordance with local cultural customs. [4] The evolution of Byzantine music was influenced by a wide array of historical, social, political, and economic factors.

The primary function of Byzantine music is to contribute to a better understanding of the holy texts through the creation of an atmosphere of prayer, connecting the gathered members of the community to each other and, through prayer, to God. Being a communicative medium it represents a special language with a series of codes and symbolic meanings, which, like any other living language, has transformed over time on several levels (spelling, sound, etc.).

Byzantine music is characterized by monophony. It has its own system of musical scales, laws, and rules, its own way of composition and notation system, the so-called semiography (parasemantics), and is characterized by a long-standing oral tradition. [5] As in the case of other types of music, Byzantine music is not only about the written text; oral tradition, the mechanism of the passing of knowledge from teacher to student is very important, as well as the performance, which, while relying on tradition, also allows for individual artistic and spiritual interpretation.

This paper focuses on the ongoing interaction that occurs when an individual approaches the chanting community, which is considered the conveyor of Byzantine music. The vast majority of research concerning Byzantine music comprises musicological or theological studies. Here we approach Byzantine music from an anthropological perspective.

The first hearing of Byzantine music is by everyone on the perimeter of a (Christian) community, for instance, in the courtyard of a temple. It is here that each voice ceases to be a lonely “voice shouting in the desert,” [6] and individuals become visible because of their gradual approach to the center of the dialogue. Through the natural “speaker” of Byzantine music, a person can make his/her voice heard. [7]

With the chanting in their ears, they are taken from the periphery of the community, the constant murmur and endless commotion, towards the center of the dialogue, introducing themselves to the performance of Byzantine music, making their very first appearance as a moving “blip” on the screen of the Byzantine cosmography.

The appearance of the “blip” means that their voice has started to be recorded/oriented in relation to the two poles of Byzantine music. Then, little by little, each person’s performance will be temporarily revealed as an attempt to redefine where he/she stands around the center of the dialogue. Within the limits of polarity, an individual starts to draw a traceable, identifiable course. Strange as it may seem, this individual course can be kept even beyond the limits of the Byzantine polarity, meaning that a person has managed to take a stand and has made a full circle around the sound of the performance. Taking the route that follows an overgrown path indicates the “liveliness” of one’s life presence as well as the oral element in Byzantine music, while the path that directly leads to the story of the sound indicates the written tradition of this music, along with the person that secures it.

I found my own way from the periphery (my homeland) towards the “center of the musical dialogue” by taking my first steps in the company of an experimental music composer, Vladimir Jovanović, who, in his attempt to expand the dialogue, introduced a group of young students to the Byzantine sound in Belgrade in the early nineties. [8]

I then decided to move closer to this sound and so I chose to study in Athens at the beginning of the new millennium. The deeper I “wandered” into the adventures of Byzantine sound, the more my gender identity (female), national identity (Serb), religious identity (Christian), and professional identity (anthropologist), started to evolve, which led to an emergence of/self-confidence in my social identity, something that in turn has offered me new experiences and unexpected acquaintances. It is already clear to me that I draw parallels between my life so far and the story of Byzantine sound.

Every performance tries to make manifest the story of a sound. To perform is not just about creating a sound but securing it: allowing the sound to be heard, to be freely diffused in a given environment. In this way, the one who makes the sound and the one who hears it come into collaboration with each other. They relate to the story of the sound, meaning that the sound becomes relevant to them. This is comparable to the anthropological approach, which “entails an attitude on the part of the outside professionals that their work and their relationships with the local members are governed by a commitment to people, to work with them, i.e., not for them and not about them (…). This emphasis distinguishes collaborative research from other approaches in which the academic works for a specific employer.” [9]

In short, the performers and audience have equal parts in any performance, the former offering the sound that is secured by the latter, so that the communication of this sound can reach out to everyone, whether inside or outside the religious service. Equality and independence (harmony and rhythm) are at the core of any music, and this is how the story of a sound echoes through a whole culture, society, or religion.

Everyone defines their individuality by coming closer to the sound. In narrating parts of this sound, they are enabled and inspired to carry on in their own lives by actively taking part in a dialogue within the boundaries of civil society. A modern approach in anthropology is based on two assumptions: “that the field site is no longer the only place for data gathering and the fieldworker is no more the single producer of such knowledge. Research projects should become open-ended productions and start a dialogue with different audiences: colleagues, experts, activists, and policy and opinion makers.” [10] A (live) performance achieves its purpose whenever such a dialogue takes place. Already the interest has shifted from the music to “the music of the dialogue.”

Individuals come to perform in unison toward an ongoing dialogue once each one’s voice has been clearly heard (monophony). Theoretically speaking, the music itself is a dialogue that welcomes everyone. But this means taking a step further in the universe of music, and what we want for the moment is to take a step back—we need to reflect. Byzantine music, performed in a religious service, continues to secure the “shift” from music to the “music of dialogue,” something that leaves essential space for the individual. In practice, this could mean that someone becomes less of a performer and more of a participant, less of a narrator and more of a communicator, finding themselves less in unison and more in a dialogue with others. This reflects the so-called “compassionate turn” in anthropology “that made anthropologists re-emphasize the importance of empathy: to demonstrate their ability to effectively address problems beyond the discipline—illuminating the larger social issues of our times as well as encouraging broad, public conversations about them with the explicit goal of fostering social change.” [11]

Nowadays, it could be argued that Byzantine music is neither about the written text nor the oral tradition. Byzantine music stands in between, charting the space in which the two poles, the oral and the written, can reverberate. And this kind of “summons” can only mean something if it is approached.

Individuality always presents itself in the conspicuous costume of a social identity. Sometimes, the given identity might be perfectly suited to the individual—though more often the “outfit” needs adjustments. People entering the Byzantine polarity are surprised to find that they have been given an excellent opportunity to make some readjustments to their social identity, to give some thought as to how things might go for them, and start drawing parallel lines in an effort to handle the dynamics between oral and written tradition in Byzantine music.

One of the most popular stories in anthropology is that of Kenneth Good, who went to Amazonia to study a tribe and stayed much longer than initially planned. Eventually, the tribe offered him a wife, Yarima, whom he married. Here’s what he said: “Down deep, all I really wanted was to find some way to make a living and get back into the jungle … to live with Yarima. … My original purpose—to observe and analyze this people as an anthropological researcher—had slowly merged with something more personal.” [12]

Since then, an increasing number of anthropologists advocate rather than criticize the breaking down of the traditional barriers that separate the observer from the observed. Tedlock suggests: “The implication is that a subject’s way of knowing is incompatible with the scientist’s way of knowing and that the domain of objectivity is the sole property of the outsider.” [13] What we have tried to achieve in this paper is to offer a third way that proposes the drawing of parallels between a slow “merging” or a sharp “dichotomizing.”

The master, usually male, holds the key to Byzantine music. He is an expert chanter, and he is given the authority to “preach” about Byzantine music. [14] Preaching is what a student needs to hear and believe if he/she is willing to go further, through the gates and past the guardians ahead. In other words, a student is open and willing to learn, but he/she doesn’t hold the key.

A student is not always a young person, but rather anyone standing in front of a closed gate, looking for the key to move towards the next meeting made by the oral and written traditions of Byzantine music. A master is the one who “preaches” the written tradition and teaches the oral one, holding his own key that was given to him by another master. This is how tradition and authority are kept alive. In a way, teaching means becoming a student again to see the world from a fresh standpoint, to traverse the hidden paths of the oral tradition in order to show that these paths are the essence of teaching and can only be transmitted orally.

Nevertheless, a student on his/her way to achieving expertise should constantly switch between the oral and the written traditions in order to make a religious-melodic sound. However, the departure point is always the oral dimension, the “hearable,” followed by the written one. A master takes the opposite route, starting from the written text in order to reach the key of his own “personal” sound. These two identities meet each other on their way to Byzantine music. The way towards a personal sound is a creative synthesis of oral and written tradition.

Professional chanters are accomplished experts of Byzantine music. They have a deep understanding of the texts that comprise the written tradition. At any given moment they can accurately perform simple or advanced Byzantine musical compositions. Professional chanters are the main representatives and guardians of the written tradition in Byzantine music.

On the other hand, amateur chanters are usually local figures with a high sense of belonging to a community. [15] They represent the nostalgic voice of their community, a voice closely related to the beliefs and rituals of their culture. Amateur chanters are living examples of the local tradition. Before the instant video recording of our digital era, the tradition was transmitted orally to succeeding generations.

Male identity is closely related to the written tradition of Byzantine music. Most of the composers, poets/hymnographers, masters, and famous chanters throughout history were and still are males. [16] It therefore seems right to say that the gender of Byzantine music is male. However, if there is a hidden side to Byzantine music, something that remains silent and concealed, this is beyond doubt the female perspective.

It is well known that the majority of believers are female. Women sing/whisper along during the sermon, they are familiar with the various chants, and in this way contribute to the spreading of the music in the community. For centuries, female believers have nourished the oral tradition of Byzantine music, in families or in female monasteries (convents). Convents thrived throughout the history of Christianity, though, curiously enough, there are scarce historical sources related to the expertise of nuns in the performance of this music as part of their devotion to God. [17] Females stand in history as the invisible guardians of oral tradition. But invisibility does not mean oblivion.

Male monasteries used to be religious and spiritual centers. In terms of Byzantine music, they were the “engines” of its development. The monasteries possessed the most valuable treasures of this music, a rich bibliography, manuscripts, and vast archival material. [18]

In monasteries, the oral goes hand in hand with the written tradition, allowing them to enrich both traditions by creating and establishing their own unique sound, which becomes recognizable to others.

Byzantine music rises like a spring from these monasteries and runs through the country. By word of mouth, it flows to larger or smaller communities and from generation to generation, creating in each area a specific local sound. Before the printing revolution, manuscripts were hard to come by since they were considered high-value items.

Changes started to happen at the beginning of the nineteenth century. Printing allowed the distribution of written chanting books. [19] This had a strong effect on the oral tradition, since, as more people learned to read, they oriented more toward the written tradition. Curiously enough, the digital era has brought about a rebirth of the oral tradition. It is easy, at any time or place, to have access to recordings, to hear or reproduce them.

Since the beginning of the modern era, the oral tradition has constantly reinvented itself, either by radio broadcast or through the downloading of digital audio files, with people listening to and learning about different chanting voices and styles.

Nowadays, Byzantine music can be performed inside and outside churches. It can also be heard in concert halls. [20] In terms of these two different kinds of “performance,” the oral and written traditions present an interesting twist. While it is reasonable to suppose that the written tradition rules in the sacred space of a church, the opposite tends to happen. Modern lifestyle implies the pressure of time and non-stop motion, something that impacts the chanting melodies sung inside churches. Shorter versions of Byzantine music are not always the result of modern life but are in line with the oral tradition, since a chanter finds it easier to memorize the chants. This also goes down well with the people attending the service since they can follow more easily and even sing along. Is this what happens in a concert hall?

No. Every concert program of Byzantine music varies from a standard to a sophisticated one, and in some cases can be the result of the extensive and laborious reading of old manuscripts and other historical sources. A performance that can also be related to scientific research, conferences, and publications, aims to project the sound of Byzantine music that echoes from the depths of the past. This, along with the undoubtedly artistic value of an event, pushes Byzantine music, which until recently had only the humble purpose of praising the glory of God, into another dimension.

An interesting dimension of oral and written tradition is revealed when Byzantine music travels beyond the national borders of Greece. [21] In a new cultural environment, the sound begins a dialogue with the rhythm of the national language, something that is at first conducted like an oral experiment until the melody and rhythm come together. Once this happens, it can be written down.

For instance, in Belgrade in the 1990s, during the rebirth of Byzantine music among small groups of students and intellectuals, it was recorded on tapes at various monasteries on Mount Athos in order for them to hear how the music really sounded; the music was then transmitted/learned by adjusting the “new” sound to the rhythmic rules of the Slavic ecclesiastical language. [22]

During the twentieth century, Byzantine music “migrated” to other continents and especially to the English-speaking world. Greeks in search of better living conditions established communities all over the United States, Australia, the UK, Canada. The next generations might have lost direct contact with the Greek language but not with the Orthodox faith. Thus, Byzantine music started to be heard in English, something that allowed people from outside the Greek community to take part in the services, to get to know the hymns and even to form excellent choirs (e.g. Cappella Romana from Portland, Oregon, USA). The meeting of Byzantine music with the English language is a challenge of the modern age and this has to do with keeping the musical phrasing “intact” while ensuring the English verse is well understood.

Byzantine music is transcendental in the sense of the shift that is made from music to musical dialogue, something equivalent to an artistic happening or jamming session, meaning that it is more about (spiritually) coming together. In a way, Byzantine music is freely offered to everyone who passes by because dialogue needs participation and the welcoming of individual voices; once this occurs, the music can be heard. It can be argued that Byzantine music consists of a series of dialogues. The novelty here is that each participant has to take the leap from one dialogue to the other, and if this involves jumping a long distance, to a great height, then we can understand the spirituality of this music.

Byzantine music has long been in a lively dialogue with the Slavic ecclesiastical language. For example, the Serbian composers Stephen the Serb, Nikola the Serb, and Isaiah the Serb composed Byzantine music with hymns in the Slavic church language as early as the fifteenth century. [23] This long-term dialogue also resulted in an excellent translation of the theological terms, which is of great importance since the basic terms carry the same syllabic patterns, which in turn can be better fitted into the melodic formulae of Byzantine music. [24] Nevertheless, there are minor changes in the melodic formulae once Byzantine music crosses the borders of the Slavic world. Certain improvements in the melody must be made to better fit the accent of the written words. [25] A beautiful example that shows the parallel between Byzantine music in Greek and Slavic church language is the performance of two Byzantine choirs (the “Tropos” Choir from Athens (Greece) and the Serbian Chanters Choir) performing one beside the other on the occasion of the Feast of the Meeting of the Lord on February 15, 2023, in the Church of St. Sava in Belgrade. If you watch the video on YouTube, you can easily recognize the pleasant sound of the two choirs singing to each other. [26]

Bringing Byzantine music into the structure of the English hymn, chanters and composers try to construct melodies by using traditional formulae. However, the English syntax is completely different from the Greek one, and the same is true for the religious terms. In their search for a solution, chanters rely either on the tradition of melodic structure or on the natural sound and rhythm of the English text. [27] In any case, Byzantine music in English always succeeds in evoking a ‘memory’ of the dialogue that concerns the mode, rhetoric, and spirit in which it was written.

When Byzantine music is heard in its natural setting, namely the church, the music is there to facilitate the ongoing dialogue between the worshippers and the Divine. Music takes a step back, people take a step forward. And, since we live in the modern age, the fast rhythm overwhelms people’s lives and pushes things to come one after another faster, and, as a result, Byzantine music not only steps aside but also shortens in time! An example is the Cherubic Hymn, or Cherubikon, sung at the Great Entrance of the Divine Liturgy. The hymn “symbolically incorporates those present at the liturgy into the presence of the angels gathered around throne God’s throne.” [28] For the chanters, the Cherubikon is the climax of their singing. Needless to say, this hymn can be abruptly stopped by the priest if he feels the service will not be finished in time!

When Byzantine music is heard in concerts, the music takes a few steps forward. Byzantine choirs bear the names of famous hymnographers and composers (mostly male): to name a few, Saint Romanos the Melodist, Saint John of Damascus, Saint John Koukouzelis, and Saint Cassia the Hymnographer, [29] the last of which was composed of women. All these figures from the great historical past can be included in an elaborate program interpreted by a Byzantine choir in a concert hall, giving the growing concert audience of Byzantine music the opportunity to hear the entire long compositions of the old masters. [30]

In our modern times, the dialogue continues on websites and blogs, where people come together digitally to share their experiences and knowledge, and to discuss issues related to the theory and practice of Byzantine music today. This means that in addition to listening to and watching Byzantine music on YouTube or other platforms, there are specialized websites such as analogion.com or saintanthony.com where the spirit of Byzantine music can come to full bloom.

Byzantine music was never meant to be a game changer just because it can move the focus from community to individual free will. It symbolized a bringing together of different worlds. Individual free will comes to the fore whenever decision-making is involved, and the framework of Byzantine polarity allows a number of different and overlapping social identities to interact on their way in life, drawing a parallel line in the Byzantine music universe.