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Author: admin, 21.01.2014. Category: Tinnitus Causes And Cures

My letter to Djivan was an attempt to express something of my feelings on visiting his country, to thank him for his overwhelming generosity and to try to explain why my reaction at the time must have seemed inadequate. During our stay in Armenia he invited us to eat with him almost every night, either at an expensive restaurant or at his house.
Although he is wealthy by Armenian standards, with a comfortable house and a black BMW, Gasparian has a reputation for generosity and humility which I often saw demonstrated. Despite my general disorientation I did manage to interview Djivan Gasparian on our last night together. DC So maybe you could tell us something about the history of the duduk and the history of Armenia. DG (after some discussion with his wife and granddaughter) Ninety percent of the duduk players in Armenia are my students in one way or another. Later on, with the minidisk machine still recording, I was sitting with Patrice on the porch. Armenia: A dry, mountainous landscape with occasional small fields of crops in strange organic shapes amid expanses of grey-brown rock. I just said something that I thought would never happen and a week later it was all set up. Despite Evaa€™s constant efforts on behalf of our small group, the Armenian officials who were supposed to be facilitating our gig were supremely unhelpful. Dinner at Djivana€™s table involved mountains of food and frequent ceremonial toasting in vodka prefaced by formal speeches (a Gurdjieffian custom also). The National Duduk House is a shabby building consisting of a couple of dingy rooms and a verandah. Despite the Festival Commissionera€™s assurance that everything was arranged for our departure, we found out, when we arrived at the airport at five am the next morning, that we were not permitted to leave the country because we had not the necessary authorisation.The plane was due to leave at six.
That was as far as my presence of mind went, because I think I may have drunk a pint or so of vodka. I tried to enthuse him about the wonderful duduk reeds I had recently acquired from Felix the Reed Master. I dona€™t know whether ita€™s deliberate, or whether it just happens that way, this is the pattern. The history of this tiny country is one of almost constant struggle to retain a language, an identity and a culture despite being relegated to second-class status in someone elsea€™s empire.
Some time in June 2000 I had voiced the thought to my wife that if I had one wish to do something before I died it would be to go to Armenia and learn to make duduk reeds.
I had heard his name, listened to his recordings, even met his agent, but never imagined I would ever meet the man himself.
It looks like a garden maintenance shed, and is in fact situated in the grounds of the a€?English Gardena€™ in the centre of Yerevan.
Nobody would appreciate my principles, certainly not those who would want to kill me quickly. Although the Armenian nation has existed for several millennia, it is only relatively recently that it has actually had internationally recognised boundaries. A week later I received a call from Eva Skalla, a Polish-born lady whom I happened to know.
Most of our time seemed to be spent sitting around not knowing what was going to happen or worrying that what was supposed to happen wouldna€™t happen. He can communicate with his agent Eva Skalla, who is of Polish stock and can just about get by in Russian.
You give nothing to the bad people, the insincere, the posturing politicians, the duplicitous money-grubbers and the rest. The Reed Master had a Kurdish appearance, with a narrow bony face and an enormous moustache. Djivan, who had consumed a lot more vodka than I had, nevertheless gave profound answers and some to the questions I didna€™t ask.
The land occupied by Armenians two thousand years ago, before anyone had thought of drawing boundaries on a map, was about fifteen times larger than it is today. He is probably the most famous man in Armenia but behaves without the slightest pretension and even with a degree of self-deprecation. The most famous man in the land gathered these kids together and squatted down to their level with his hands on the shoulders of the two nearest.


But at least they do have their own country, and are strongly conscious of their good fortune in this respect.
The letter I was sending was to Djivan Gasparian, supreme master of the duduk, Armeniaa€™s national instrument, and a man who had for some reason taken me to his heart during my short visit to his country.
She asked me if Ia€™d like to go to Armenia, all expenses paid, to participate in celebrations for the 1700th anniversary of the Armenian adoption of Christianity as state religion. It's a middle Eastern country and its ways are those of the middle East; officials are grafters and time-servers, and government has only the most superficial concern for the people it governs. At the same time he is impatient of the failings of others and sensitive about his public image. He has a rounded upper abdomen which I assumed must be vodka gut, until on our last night together he invited me to feel it. After our televised live concert, which apparently was regarded as having been very successful (!), we were summoned to the Festival Commission Office to receive a€?official thanksa€™. Via an interpreter, Felix told me that he had learned his craft, not from an old master, but on his own, by trial and error. Westerners, for whom nationality without territory is hardly imaginable, will find this difficult to appreciate. In Yerevan the rich successors of the Soviet regime have their expensive houses and apartments, and their privileged restaurants in the cool atmosphere down by the river. Just like in the West of course, but without the Westa€™s consitutional checks and balances, and without freedom of the press. The Festival Commissioner kept us waiting for three hours for no apparent reason and then invited us into his office where he spouted diplomatic vacuities for a further half hour.
Wona€™t you be ashamed later on, when you are twenty years old, that you begged when you were children?a€™ They answered him: a€?We have no parents. As a result of his self-taught skills he was now making duduk reeds superior to anything in the past. Tradition in Armenia also means practising the ancient customs of the region, which are shared by Georgians, Russians, Turks, Greeks and others. In Gyumri mile upon mile of temporary tin shacks surround the shattered suburbs, jerry-built victim of the 1990 earthquake, still unreconstructed. Michal Shapiro, a world music aficionado from New York, said the hotel sign made her feel like she was on acid. As it happened, I did: Didier Malherbe (of Gong notoriety), a saxophonist who had been aquiring jazz skills on the duduk for some years. While the rest of us smiled politely, Djivan scowled and looked down at the polished table top on which he was conspicuously twirling his mobile phone. These customs include: patriarchy, hospitality, generosity, religiosity, emotional honesty, poetic feeling, male disregard for the needs of women, and female thriftiness struggling to counteract male love of conspicious consumption. The old city centre, with its beautiful ancient cathedral, standing unscathed amid the ruins.
And here we were, plonked into the middle of this, expected to come up with an hour-and-a-half concert in three days, and none of us had ever met before, except Didier Malherbe and Patrice Meyer, the Parisian Dynamic Duo. A white-haired 75-year old with more enthusiasm and stamina than most men half his age, he consumes vodka to an extent that would leave me paralysed. Once upon a time they were western European customs also, but they are now largely absent from our culture; we are today predominantly agnostic, mean-spirited, cynical and supportive of sexual equality.
That night, after I had consumed so much of his vodka at his insistence that I could hardly walk, he drove us back to our hotel in Yerevan from his house in a village twenty miles away. The cane is cut to about four inches in length and the surface scraped down about half a millimetre.
Like the Aisori (Assyrians) who have disappeared off the map, so could the Armenians have disappeared, like other nations who do not have their own country: Kurds, Assyrians, Gypsies. They are, however, still widely to be found in America, due perhaps to immigration from those parts of the world where, at the time, such traditional values had not yet disappeared. I was almost unconscious and couldna€™t witness the hair-raising journey, but I know it must have been fast, for Gasparian ignores all the rules of the road at all times. It is softened by simmering in water for a day, then soaked in olive oil for a day, then a form applied to press the circular cross-section into an oval. I have brought the duduk into the symphony orchestra, into classical music, into jazz, into rock music.


Ia€™d brought Scottish highland pipes and Irish uilleann pipes with me to see what the locals might think of Gaelic music, but there was going to be no opportunity to play jigs and reels.
He goes through red lights, swerves in front of on-coming traffic and takes the shortest way round roundabouts. We spent most of the three days of rehearsals politely acquiescing to an Italian composer (self-styled) of limited intelligence, who had brought some synth loops with him on a lap-top and who would apparently have been quite happy for the whole gig to consist solely of that. He reminded me of accounts I have read of the famous Greek-Armenian philosopher and mystic G.
Then back into the pan to simmer for another day, then back into the oil, then squeezed a little more, and so on.
After two and a half days of this my blood was beginning to boil, not only because of the frustration and annoyance but also because the weather was extremely hot. The temperature and dryness of the air was making my uilleann pipe reeds go out of tune - theya€™re designed to be played in the coolness and damp of the British Isles, not in the baking August heat of Asia Minor. Gurdjieff, whose powerful personality and unorthodox behaviour eclipsed everyone around him. Armenia produces the purest of water, unique mystical religion, fantastic food, glorious cognac, heavenly music, people of the calibre of G.
Eventually a bus takes us to Yerevan and an uncomfortable concrete hotel smelling of dust, whose only guests appear to be us. The only ones who seemed cheerfully unaffected were the two seasoned gigsters Didier and Patrice.
Like Gurdjieff, Gasparian has no patience with politicians, bureaucrats and other self-serving types.
A cane tuning ligature is heat-formed and tied to fit over the reed, and is attached with thread to a wooden cap that protects the lips of the reed.
He looks always for the genuine human quality in a person, which is why he told me he prefers to be with musicians. They pulled the rabbit out of the hat for the rest of us, performing superbly in wholly unsuitable conditions with a sound crew who did not know how to operate the equipment, in front of live TV cameras and half the population of Yerevan. I accepted the compliment, and his assessment of the musical fraternity (though my own experience admits of some exceptions). I spend the night lying naked on a nylon sheet, listening to traffic and barking dogs through the wide open window. Felix had devoted his life to a highly esoteric craft, and I realised this was not a path I was capable of following, not with a wife and family to support. It does not occur to me that for the majority of Armenians this would not be discomfort, it would be luxury. I thought I would never love like that again but I did and still do but I can't understand why I love someone who I KNOW loves me yet never let me love her was she just insecure or was I a fling I did tell her to guard her heart. Wish I hadn't but I am going to give her her space as hard as it is to do that it's harder to get ignored I thought things might have been going where I wanted but maybe I misunderstood her reaction when I brought her the card and one red rose I thought I saw that smile inher eyes I'm sure I did but might be she thinks I have more baggage than benifitA  but she is and always has been kind I'm not closing the door on her just stepping back a bit. If she or any other woman cost me money fifty grand or fifty million it wouldn't matter I can make do with or without money and I canalways make more but I can never replace her she's worth more to me than any amount of money I'm happiest when with her just talking and listeningA  everywhere I go I look for her even though I KNOW she is at work I don't know what to do or say if there is anything I can but I can't stop wondering did I ever really matter but I feel like I did even though she never let me love her.I think I'm Charlie brown as I can make her smile and I'm snoopy cuz I have been a dog but I am Cecil and you are ??? It began to get cold so the little bird took off south all alone but the weather was very cold and her wings began to freeze the bird was unable to fly and fell to the ground in a pasture wings frozen and unable to fly our feathered friend thought it was the end.
The manure began to thaw out the little bird warm and happy the bird began to chirp and sing. The moral of the story is someone who craps on you is not necessaryaly your enemy and someone who pulls you out of a pile of shit is not always your friend. And the NWO doesn't have to make a deal with me, but they'd be smart to do so, as their "intelligence" isn't too wise.I have a little bit more coffee in the carafe, and a day to find a nice place to rent, and a car wash for the Chariot. But they know of what I know and know most people I know they can't and won't believe that I know things simply by some awfull ability I have to decipher things but my brain sees them but doesn't understand what they mean sometimes I wonder if I have a tumor I can't make sense of it but it bothers people that I'm this way they think I'm crazy when I mention things I often feel crazy as I can't piece it together my mind is always racing I wright things down and later think someone else did it it's not my writing but at times I catch myself writing in a way that is different can't explain it? It seems as though some are out to destroy me and others trying to guide me but I can't remember the details I need only the ones that confuse me tell me why? At least not that I know of bee off to work soon I'm considering leading my own truck have another lead on a driving job from yesterday will be looking into it today after I'm done painting.



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