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Welcome to this site for singers of Slavic folksongs. Here you can learn more about the languages you sing, the meaning of words of the songs you love, and the music and dances that go with them.
I have been studying Slavic languages since I was nine years old, culminating in a Ph.D. in Slavic Linguistics and Folklore from the University of Virginia, and have been singing Slavic folksongs for nearly 50 years. So I can help you understand the words of the songs you sing.
Many of these songs are from village dialects from the distant past and sometimes are very challenging to translate, but I'm glad to share my knowledge of Slavic languages and welcome your comments and experiences as well (slavicfolksongs.net@gmail.com). Together we can bring to these Slavic folksongs the light of understanding, magnifying the joy of singing, sharing music, and dancing together.
One Night at a Dance Camp in Russia
One Night at a Dance Camp in Russia
In the summer of 2010, I once again found myself at a camp deep in the Russian wilderness, among the spruce trees and sparse, sandy meadows at the very top of the Gulf of Finland. I was there with my 13-year-old daughter, Sonia.
The site of the gathering was incredibly beautiful, the weather was hot and sultry, and the shallow water of the Gulf surprisingly warm to swim in. As we wandered around the camp on the first day, we discovered a veritable village crowded with tents and tipis, cafes and teahouses, outdoor stages and big top tents, teeming with over two thousand Russians from all walks of life.
There were workshops and performances at every hour of the day and night—dancing, music, drumming, massage, spiritual practices, martial arts, healing, folk arts, drama, sports and games, and an effervescent children's program.
Every evening I led the Dances of Universal Peace and other practices late into the night, or rather through the misty twilight of the Russian White Nights, when the sun would dip down below the horizon in a dusky haze of pastel orange and pink, gold and red, lavender and chartreuse—more colors than can be named or even imagined!
Late one night after my class, hours past midnight, I heard drumming coming out of the forest. I followed the sound and found over a hundred people around a huge bonfire—singing, dancing, drums beating wildly—so I sat down and joined in with my own drum. The energy picked up, the singing became louder, the drumming more frenzied.
Suddenly, I noticed people moving in lines around the forest clearing, rapidly breathing a shallow, rhythmic breath, faster and faster. Others were shoveling coals from the fire, laying them out to form a twelve-foot-long "fire path."
Then the chanters, feet bared, started walking over it, still breathing rapidly, rhythmically, stepping right on top of the hot coals, unaware of the burning fire beneath their feet. Even my sweet Sonia joined in (as I found out later), magically transformed by the energy of the group, not feeling a thing, her tender feet none the worse for their trip across the fiery coals.
When the drumming had died down, the people finally dispersed, an ephemeral mist crept over the waters of the Gulf. I wandered down to the shore, where the fire dancers spun and whirled, their pots of fire tracing mysterious runes in the enchanting, early morning dawn...
Russian musician at festival
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