Interview by: PJ Noack
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DIAMANDA GALÁS
It is the dark, hidden
places in history that interest Diamanda Galás. Her song
cycles contain moans of pain, howls of anger, and shrieks of vengeance,
striking at us from forgotten injustices and hidden atrocities like
snakes from a Gorgon's head. Galás wears this head as her
breastplate, as the warrior goddess Athena was believed to have
done. Though born and raised in San Diego, she is of Greek descent
and is profoundly aware of this heritage and what it represents.
“In my case, I'm a person who does not work in the US because
there is very little interest for my work there,” she tells
me in a conversation from Italy recently. “It deals with situations
that most Americans know very little about”.
Defixiones, Orders
from the Dead is an installation of work that Galás has been
developing for some years. At the heart of it lies the notion of
the artist in exile and the memory of the Greek, Armenian and Assyrian
genocides that took place throughout much of the 20th century. Galás
says that a major contribution to the new Defixiones has come from
her recent collaboration with the poet Adonis, whose text 'The Desert'
appears as part of her work. The two artists worked and performed
together at the Festival Milanesiana in Milan early in 2005. “Working
directly with a poet was a remarkable experience”, she says,
adding that, although Adonis (whom she calls the greatest living
Arab poet) is Syrian, she had originally learned his text through
Tunisian, Egyptian and Moroccan speakers. “Now I do it properly,
because before I had not worked with him. It's much more articulate”.
The song cycle Songs
of Exile continues in the exploration in a broader but no less confronting
fashion. The inclusion of older pieces from Galás' repertoire
alongside her takes on such classics as the Stanley Brothers 'O
Death' makes this offering a continuation of previous works such
as Malediction and Prayer and La Serpenta Canta. But whilst the
musical languages may be somewhat different, the concerns of Songs
of Exile are just as serious and unsettling as those of Defixiones.
Galás' outraged
reading of humanity's bloody history makes her tolerance for potential
exploitation or manipulation by authorities lie well below zero.
She related to me the bizarre story of a recent residency at the
Civitella Ranieri Centre, an international artists' colony in Umbria.
Whilst stressing her respect for the foundation in general, Galás
is scathingly critical of the Centre's administration. She describes
artists living in what she views as an atmosphere of oppression
and intimidation, which includes and English language only policy.
“One can expect from many administrators this kind of behavior”,
she says, “but for artists to be so terrified... there's a
whole attitude where they're saying 'I'll do whatever you say',
and that's disgusting”.
Galás was incensed
by what she felt to be oppressive rule, which she openly defied
and denounced, sensing intrusive and dangerous political interference
in artistic expression at work. She eventually found herself escorted
from the premises in what she perceived to be an attempt at silencing
her. “They just fucking hated me. They knew I could fuck them.
I was accused of insubordination,” she continues, “which
makes me laugh. I'm very suspicious of an international colony which
eventually has five Americans and then five other colleagues and
then becomes only English speaking. This is very suspicious. But
I did a tremendous amount of work. No matter where I am I always
get work done because that's the only thing that keeps us alive”.
Galás lives
as she believes. In a world where freedom of expression is becoming
a relative term, Diamanda Galás has become indefeasible.