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Lezginka Legend Brings Dance of Dagestan to US
RIA Novosti
Features & Opinion
30/07/2013
By Maria Young
BROOKLYN, New York, July 30 (By Maria Young for RIA Novosti) - In a
roomful of pint-sized performers, swirling and stomping like they were
born to dance in their forefathers' footsteps, a tanned and muscular
Anatoliy Vartanian is waving his arms like a madman, shouting
frustration in a voice filled with disgust, his salt-and-pepper hair
jutting out at crazy angles, outrage spewing from his soul.
`What are you thinking??! Tighter! You're not trying!' he fumes in his
native Russian tongue, inches away from the face of a wide-eyed
eight-year-old boy who instantly manages to sharpen his moves, leaping
higher, turning with a precision that wasn't there a moment before.
That's the kind of respect you command when you are one of the most
famous lezginka dancers of Dagestan, where this fast-paced, frenzied
dance, filled with jumping, twirling and high-pitched screams
originated hundreds of years ago.
`I love each of them tremendously... but when I shout at them, when I
tell them off, I have a result. If I were soft with them, they
wouldn't have danced like that,' said Vartanian through a translator
in an interview with RIA Novosti.
It is late in his upper-floor studio on a non-descript street in
Brooklyn, New York where dozens of kids with family ties to Dagestan,
Azerbaijan and the Caucasus region of Russia have just finished their
Friday night classes.
=80=9CThere's a fire inside of me; I'm giving them so much and I want
them to give even a little bit back. But not all of them do, and
that's why I shout. I love every hair on their heads, but when they
are lazy, when they're fooling around, it drives me insane,' he added.
You can almost imagine some young American children in such a class
dissolving in tears, their parents frantic about the effects of such
treatment on fragile young self-esteems.
And yet, the kids in this Brooklyn studio clearly adore
Vartanian. They idolize him. They practically worship the man,
whispering his name in a tone of something close to reverence. Their
parents watch the classes on a monitor from another room, laughing at
some of the antics but clearly proud of their children carrying on a
cultural tradition from the homeland.
Vartanian, who is 77 years old, is more than a teacher. He is the
grand patriarch of this incredibly close-knit family of sorts of
first-generation Americans who share a common heritage. They look to
him as a cherished grandfather. And the more he yells, the more loved
they feel.
`Anatoliy has his own way of teaching. When it's during a class he can
be loud... precisely because he likes everything to be perfect to the
tee. But outside of class we all refer to him as our grandfather. He
drives us home, he comes to our parties with us, we have our own
little family gatherings,' said 14-year-old Alexandra Goldshmidt, who
has been studying lezginka with Vartanian since she was eight.
`We wouldn't say he's nuts. It's just, that's the way he teaches,
that's the way he trains us, and the way he raises us,' she added.
Eighteen-year-old Adi Avishalom was an infant when he came to the
United States with his family as refugees from Baku,
Azerbaijan. There, lezginka is quite popular, he said.
Avishalom has been studying lezginka for as far back as he can
remember, and describes the dance, with its sharp, angular movements,
pounding drumbeat and fiery music, in almost poetic terms.
`You can get so much emotion out of it. It's very aggressive, so you
can get your anger out and at the same time, you can dance it very
sharply, very accurately, but not forcefully. It can be gentle at the
same time,' Avishalom said.
`Hip hop's too common. It doesn't touch my heart like lezginka
does. When I dance this, I just get a joy that's pretty
extraordinary,' he added.
Avishalom's extended family of several hundred people in the New York
area, along with neighbors and friends who migrated to the United
States, are thrilled to find their native dance alive and kicking
through the next generation.
`Even though it's not very popular among New Yorkers or even
Americans, it's very popular among our culture. So whenever we get
together for a wedding we would dance this and everyone would be
shocked. They'd be like, `Wow, where'd you learn this?'' he said.
But it almost didn't happen.
Vartanian was a leading dancer with the Lezginka Ensemble in Dagestan
for years, performing for crowds packed with admiring fans and heads
of state across Europe, and was named an Honored Artist of
Dagestan. His was a classic `rags-to-riches' tale that began in an
orphanage in Dagestan and led him to the top of his field.
Video URL:
http://www.youtube.com/watch?feature=player_embedded&v=nJhDehEsSEg
By the time he reached a level of fame, Vartanian said, he was `living
grandly' and `could get a studio for free. They just wanted me to be
there. `
When he moved to the United States in the mid-1990s after the collapse
of the Soviet Union, he was in his late 50s and found no such fame or
fortune. People in America didn't recognize his face and they had
never heard of lezginka. He struggled to find a job that was suitable,
working first in a kebab house, then as a chef, and later in a bakery.
`I changed lots of jobs, and there was a moment when I wanted to
leave. I went to Kennedy Airport three times,' planning to go back
home, but turned around each time, he remembered. `There wasn't much
for me here.'
He missed his homeland, and he missed lezginka, which he called `the
dance of the mountains,' and `a temperamental dance that could even
make the dead want to come back to life.'
That bleak existence began to change through a stroke of fate, a
chance meeting in 1999 with some friends from Makhachkala, the capital
of Dagestan, and their sons. Young Zoriy would become his first
student in the United States.
`I started practicing with him, then at a certain point I showed his
skills, and people started calling me, 'Can you teach my daughter? Can
you teach my son? Can you stage a wedding dance?''
Working with overjoyed parents and the local community, he found
studios for the kids to dance in, and gradually the number of students
grew to more than 60.
`In the beginning the kids were looking at the clock to see when the
session would end, and now I can't make them leave the studio,' he
said.
Today, Vartanian is the director and choreographer of the LezginkaNYC
dance ensemble, which has performed in Manhattan and Washington, as
well as scores of private parties and celebrations. At nearly 78, he
has found a new home and a family at last.
`I'm feeling amazing thanks to these kids,' he said, adding with a
smile, `Those are the people for whom I live. I love them very much
because they are like my children.'
RIA Novosti
Features & Opinion
30/07/2013
By Maria Young
BROOKLYN, New York, July 30 (By Maria Young for RIA Novosti) - In a
roomful of pint-sized performers, swirling and stomping like they were
born to dance in their forefathers' footsteps, a tanned and muscular
Anatoliy Vartanian is waving his arms like a madman, shouting
frustration in a voice filled with disgust, his salt-and-pepper hair
jutting out at crazy angles, outrage spewing from his soul.
`What are you thinking??! Tighter! You're not trying!' he fumes in his
native Russian tongue, inches away from the face of a wide-eyed
eight-year-old boy who instantly manages to sharpen his moves, leaping
higher, turning with a precision that wasn't there a moment before.
That's the kind of respect you command when you are one of the most
famous lezginka dancers of Dagestan, where this fast-paced, frenzied
dance, filled with jumping, twirling and high-pitched screams
originated hundreds of years ago.
`I love each of them tremendously... but when I shout at them, when I
tell them off, I have a result. If I were soft with them, they
wouldn't have danced like that,' said Vartanian through a translator
in an interview with RIA Novosti.
It is late in his upper-floor studio on a non-descript street in
Brooklyn, New York where dozens of kids with family ties to Dagestan,
Azerbaijan and the Caucasus region of Russia have just finished their
Friday night classes.
=80=9CThere's a fire inside of me; I'm giving them so much and I want
them to give even a little bit back. But not all of them do, and
that's why I shout. I love every hair on their heads, but when they
are lazy, when they're fooling around, it drives me insane,' he added.
You can almost imagine some young American children in such a class
dissolving in tears, their parents frantic about the effects of such
treatment on fragile young self-esteems.
And yet, the kids in this Brooklyn studio clearly adore
Vartanian. They idolize him. They practically worship the man,
whispering his name in a tone of something close to reverence. Their
parents watch the classes on a monitor from another room, laughing at
some of the antics but clearly proud of their children carrying on a
cultural tradition from the homeland.
Vartanian, who is 77 years old, is more than a teacher. He is the
grand patriarch of this incredibly close-knit family of sorts of
first-generation Americans who share a common heritage. They look to
him as a cherished grandfather. And the more he yells, the more loved
they feel.
`Anatoliy has his own way of teaching. When it's during a class he can
be loud... precisely because he likes everything to be perfect to the
tee. But outside of class we all refer to him as our grandfather. He
drives us home, he comes to our parties with us, we have our own
little family gatherings,' said 14-year-old Alexandra Goldshmidt, who
has been studying lezginka with Vartanian since she was eight.
`We wouldn't say he's nuts. It's just, that's the way he teaches,
that's the way he trains us, and the way he raises us,' she added.
Eighteen-year-old Adi Avishalom was an infant when he came to the
United States with his family as refugees from Baku,
Azerbaijan. There, lezginka is quite popular, he said.
Avishalom has been studying lezginka for as far back as he can
remember, and describes the dance, with its sharp, angular movements,
pounding drumbeat and fiery music, in almost poetic terms.
`You can get so much emotion out of it. It's very aggressive, so you
can get your anger out and at the same time, you can dance it very
sharply, very accurately, but not forcefully. It can be gentle at the
same time,' Avishalom said.
`Hip hop's too common. It doesn't touch my heart like lezginka
does. When I dance this, I just get a joy that's pretty
extraordinary,' he added.
Avishalom's extended family of several hundred people in the New York
area, along with neighbors and friends who migrated to the United
States, are thrilled to find their native dance alive and kicking
through the next generation.
`Even though it's not very popular among New Yorkers or even
Americans, it's very popular among our culture. So whenever we get
together for a wedding we would dance this and everyone would be
shocked. They'd be like, `Wow, where'd you learn this?'' he said.
But it almost didn't happen.
Vartanian was a leading dancer with the Lezginka Ensemble in Dagestan
for years, performing for crowds packed with admiring fans and heads
of state across Europe, and was named an Honored Artist of
Dagestan. His was a classic `rags-to-riches' tale that began in an
orphanage in Dagestan and led him to the top of his field.
Video URL:
http://www.youtube.com/watch?feature=player_embedded&v=nJhDehEsSEg
By the time he reached a level of fame, Vartanian said, he was `living
grandly' and `could get a studio for free. They just wanted me to be
there. `
When he moved to the United States in the mid-1990s after the collapse
of the Soviet Union, he was in his late 50s and found no such fame or
fortune. People in America didn't recognize his face and they had
never heard of lezginka. He struggled to find a job that was suitable,
working first in a kebab house, then as a chef, and later in a bakery.
`I changed lots of jobs, and there was a moment when I wanted to
leave. I went to Kennedy Airport three times,' planning to go back
home, but turned around each time, he remembered. `There wasn't much
for me here.'
He missed his homeland, and he missed lezginka, which he called `the
dance of the mountains,' and `a temperamental dance that could even
make the dead want to come back to life.'
That bleak existence began to change through a stroke of fate, a
chance meeting in 1999 with some friends from Makhachkala, the capital
of Dagestan, and their sons. Young Zoriy would become his first
student in the United States.
`I started practicing with him, then at a certain point I showed his
skills, and people started calling me, 'Can you teach my daughter? Can
you teach my son? Can you stage a wedding dance?''
Working with overjoyed parents and the local community, he found
studios for the kids to dance in, and gradually the number of students
grew to more than 60.
`In the beginning the kids were looking at the clock to see when the
session would end, and now I can't make them leave the studio,' he
said.
Today, Vartanian is the director and choreographer of the LezginkaNYC
dance ensemble, which has performed in Manhattan and Washington, as
well as scores of private parties and celebrations. At nearly 78, he
has found a new home and a family at last.
`I'm feeling amazing thanks to these kids,' he said, adding with a
smile, `Those are the people for whom I live. I love them very much
because they are like my children.'