RHYTHM OF LIFE
Life in the village has a soundtrack. Birth, marriage, death—there is a melody, a song, a wild dance for almost every occasion. “With the Gypsies if someone gives birth there will be music and a big party.

“There are musicians and food and drink, a new start for the baby. And at the end, too—a funeral starts with slow sad music. By the end everyone is drunk and dancing at the cemetery.

“It’s a different way to say goodbye to someone,” says Gazsi.

“I’m horrified because I know one day it will happen with my parents, this tradition. I’m horrified! If I have to go through this some day I’m afraid I might get aggressive and throw everybody out of the house. I really have problems between my tradition and what I am today.”

When Joseph was nine years old, his father decided to send him to the city 50 kilometers away to learn classical violin. His violin teacher in the village, Victor Radu taught him to read music and play classical violin although he played folk music himself. “He told me to learn classical music because this is the future. The folk music will die out. This seems to be true. The tradition in Romania is going down.”

Although the tuition was free, the room and board cost more than an orchestra musician could afford. So his father quit the orchestra to concentrate on traditional Roma folk music at restaurants, weddings, and parties. He earned three times as much money this way and could afford to send his son to the music boarding school.

“It was like military. Get up, wash your face, go to breakfast, go to regular school from eight to twelve, then music: Solfege, music history, harmony, three violin lessons per week. I stayed until I was 18.

“Then I would have gone to the conservatory, but I was drafted into the military. I was very lucky in the military because after the first three months basic training I played weddings every Saturday and Sunday. The officers took me with them to play first violin. I didn’t get any money. The officers took the money, but they gave me peace.

“This was the price. I just hung out, played violin, and did nothing. I became a sergeant.”

KILL OR BE KILLED
The year was 1989, the Berlin wall was falling, and the Soviet Union was imploding. “Suddenly we had to put down the instruments, get the guns, and go out and shoot. The military split in two groups. One group was state security which sided with Ceausescu [the communist dictator at the time] and the other was the army which opposed him. I was in the army. And we were shooting at each other for a week or 10 days. We dug a hole and everybody was shooting like mad, day and night.

“My friend near me in the trench was shot and killed. When you see that you get a feeling that you don’t care any more. You become an animal.

“You just shoot thinking, ‘better that your mother cries than my mother.’ I don’t know if I ever hit anything. Then Ceausescu was caught and killed and the state security changed to our side. In January it was over and we were separated. The officers didn’t want the military to stay together because we knew too much and posed a danger to them. So went all were sent to different places. I was sent to the Bulgarian border to a different music group, a marching band, military music with no violins.

“I played the cymbals every morning for 10 minutes, then just hung out the rest of the day.”

After 18 months in the army, Gazsi joined the orchestra where his father had played. There were frequent tours. “We toured Switzerland once and played with a student choir in Bern. At a reception after a concert I was sitting next to a Swiss girl from the choir and I fell in love after five minutes and told her I would marry her. She said ‘maybe.’ Four years later she said yes. My wedding was traditional in Romania. The family of my Swiss wife came and met my family.

“These were like two different worlds! We did the whole program. By one o’clock the Swiss were dead tired so we only went until about three.” He moved to Zurich, finally went to the music conservatory, got his diploma, and began his career as a classical violinist in the orchestras of the country.

“In Switzerland where I live I don’t know anyone who can play our folk music,” laments Gazsi. “On my CD you can hear that. At the beginning there are a few pieces that sound very classical. We did this CD in two nights. The first night I came from Switzerland, very correct, everything organized. The guys told me ‘You play like you’re not Roma.’ I got offended and we went and bought a lot of booze. We got drunk. Then the guys said, ‘now we can start to record.’

“But then the style started to come back.”