S T A T E Mermaid Eftalya, Little Virginia and Big Amelia were the flamboyant stars of a Thirties’ musical style.
M
ary İşintalks to the latest kanto queen, and the last of the line
A ^ R j T
‘Howpretty, how tiny A fragrant pink skin Let's snuggle up together I won’t let you fade'
Photographs by ARA GULER
CHEEKY LADY
When Nurhan Damcioglu leaps on to the stage in a 1920’s Charleston dress crying “Yangin var, yangtn
var!” (“Fire, fire, I’m burning!”), her Turkish
audience is whisked back to the light-hearted variety shows of the turn of the century known as kanto. Only the extreme oldies might remember the original
kanto singers in the 1930s — colourful performers
such as Mermaid Eftalya, Madame Victoria of Thessalonika, Little Virginia, Big Amelia and Violet.
Then, only women of Greek, Armenian and other minority heritage per formed as Islam strictly forbade women to display themselves in public. But the mood is by no means nostalgic. With its saucy innuendo, play on words and vigorous dancing bordering on an earthy eroticism,
kanto is vaudeville with a
Turkish twist. The kanto show is an antidote to trouble and anxiety, its mood of carefree fun infectious. Damcioglu, a vivacious lady of a certain age, says: “I never listen to melancholy music myself.” In the more strait-laced Ottoman past, the naughty glimpse of stockinged leg through a skirt slash and suggestive metaphors such as the “pink peach”, which could refer to a cheek or a breast, were titillating immodesties that brought men flocking to the night clubs. “The old kanto singers were fleshy ladies of 70 or 80 kilos. That was the ideal of womanhood in those days. I’m only 55 kilos, but when I rotate my behind they think I’ve got a fantastic figure,” Damcioglu says, as she twists her painted fingers through her blond, curly wig.
Her kanto is an updated version which relies little on coy displays of well-padded arm and calf and risqué lyrics. Instead, her secret is a burlesque revamping, incorporating elements from ballet and modern dance, although the oriental flavour remains, with trembling shoulders and plenty of hip swaying. Damcioglu grew up in a theatrical family and made her first stage appearance at the age of seven. She studied ballet and theatre but at the age of 16 chose theatre as her vocation. “A kanto singer must be an actress. Gestures and facial expressions are an inseparable part of the act,” she says. Part of that act also involves several costume changes as each song has its own theme and dance.
Kanto emerged in Turkey during the second half of
the 19th century in response to the interest in all things western. The name, from the Italian word
canto, was originally used to denote all western-style
music until it stuck as the specific term for the vaudeville genre. Its ambiguity is reflected in the musical accompaniment, played by a mixture of tenor sax, violin, drums, clarinet, darbuka (Turkish drum) and kanun (zither).
The musical rhythms, such as 9/8, are distinctly Turkish. These snappy, syncopated beats, which are impossible to sit still to, have posed big problems for non-Turkish musicians who have accompanied Damcioglu on her many tours — including an appearance on French television.
Kanto lyrics are almost invariably humorous, with a
few exceptions to accommodate romantic themes. This type of comic verse is part of a long-standing Turkish vernacular tradition of light and satirical verse, composed mostly by minstrels, mystic poets and even tradesmen who proclaimed their poems in the street.
Although the public lost interest in kanto in the 1930s, actors and stagehands continued to sing the songs backstage to cheer themselves during long rehearsals in chilly theatres. It was in this tradition that Damcioglu based her revival of kanto in 1969, when she took to the stage in a night-club to supplement her meagre actress’s salary. Between traditional Turkish folk songs, she peppered her repertoire with kanto numbers, amusing her audience so much they demanded she sing nothing but kanto — at double her original salary.
As she hums along to “Ali Baba”, a popular tune on one of her cassettes, Damcioglu knows that she packs a powerful punch when performing. “I wiggle my bottom, pull off my curly wig and shake it in the air.” How does she know the audience approves? “People are always laughing. That’s the best compliment I can receive.” □
Mary Işın is a translator and freelance w riter living in Istanbul. # Nurhan Damcioglu w ill perform at various resort hotels in Turkey this summer.
İstanbul Şehir Üniversitesi Kütüphanesi Taha Toros Arşivi
