At such a distance for which it perhaps seems we have no facts and, many times, we fill it with trivia, without getting to the core of the problem of the Labërian song. I am neither a music researcher nor a music critic, but the time has come when my thoughts clash with my contemporaries, with the analyses they make and the conclusions they draw about this pearl of our music. Recently, UNESCO itself has taken its development under protection, as one of the rare and precious treasures of the world. But what do we do to highlight its values, how do we appreciate this priceless wealth that the world is more interested in than we are? I think we sit on our hands, not to use a harsher word.

Lately, I have been reading many articles and analyses that are truly pitiful. Most of them continue to flow with the muddy waters they read. They take them as facts and toss them from page to page. Everyone without exception, even the analysts of Albanian music—I do not use the word “Musicologists” because it is a foreign word. To me, this is often where their fatal mistake lies.

They try to explain the beautiful art of this pearl with foreign words, and not only that.

All researchers generally write: “Our polyphonic song was born here or there, it comes from the word poly-phony, which means many voices,” and they further add, “the polyphonic song is sung in Greece, Serbia, Bulgaria, etc.”

But why, gentlemen researchers, has a Greek term created the Labërian song? Which of our researchers has brought out the characteristics of the Labërian song, comparing it to the other “polyphonic” songs of the Balkans, as you call them? Well, here I am telling you, I “who do not know much about music,” that they have no connection whatsoever. And right now, as I write to you, I have dozens of such songs in front of me and am listening to them, which, compared to the Labërian ones, sound like the bells of livestock grazing in the meadows. I am not saying this to be funny, nor to give importance to my words; I will try to convince you of this.

Let us take some stubborn facts and analyze them.

Plutarch (46–125), a moralist, geographer, and historian of ancient Greece, says: “The polyphonic song was born near Lake Butrint. A ship sank, and the gathered people mourned the loss of their children.”

This is just one fact. But how do we take this fact? Since Plutarch says “polyphonic song,” must we say it too? Plutarch did not know Albanian, nor did he know the great tribe of the Lebër. He wrote for his contemporaries and in his own language. We modern-day conformists take his words and chew them over without doing any analysis. It is enough for us that he states a birthplace that suits us and pleases us. We fail to analyze that, at that time, only the Greek language was written, and the message was carried down to our days under that very same name, “Polyphony.”

Tell me, dear researchers, which was born first, “Polyphony” or Labëria, from which the Labërian song was born? Strange! In Labëria, not even a small child uses the word “polyphony”; everyone calls it the Labërian song.

What is Labëria, gentlemen, and who are the Lebër?

The Lebër are the Illyrians of the Chaonian tribe. I use the word tribe to mean the same blood or lineage. You are convinced of this when you hear the names of the villages Lazarat, Çorraj, Luzat, Zhulat, etc. Are those not the names of the tribes that created these villages?

Earlier we said that “polyphonic” songs are sung in Greece, Bulgaria, and Serbia. Why?

It is very easy to understand. The Greek historian Paparrigopoulos speaks in his works of Greek colonies in Labëria. Another historian, Ll. Spiru, building on Paparrigopoulos, writes: “Between the years 736–625 BC in the Messenian Wars, ‘today’s Kalamata,’ the great migration of the Spartans towards the Acroceraunian zone took place.” Himara, pages 21–22.

“They were assimilated by the locals, they vanished like water off a duck’s back.” Edith Durham, The Burden of the Balkans, page 104.

Well then, I add the question, did this influx not take from this culture? Of course it did. But not being in the very riverbed from which it emerged, it became impoverished in color, in form, and in harmony, yet it was still called a “polyphonic” song. In truth, it has many voices, but they are not harmonized.

Whereas in Labëria, in its birthplace, in the flow of its source, neither its crystallization, nor its harmony, nor its form were lost, but its qualities were strengthened and became more visible. I would give you the same answer regarding the Bulgarians or the Serbs, who, even though they conquered us, took from our culture instead of imposing theirs on us. And what they took, they were unable to cultivate and develop further. Their songs of this genre speak to this—“polyphonic,” as you call them!

Gentlemen, we are talking about the time when Strabo (63–20 BC) says, “The Macedonians and the Illyrians had a common non-Hellenic language.” The Greeks go so far as to say, “the polyphonic song is a crystallized offshoot of Byzantine music. It has its origins in religious church songs.” This is pure nonsense. Here is what Lorenzo Tardo writes in his work L’antica melurgia Bizantina:

“The Albanian Lebër, hating the Muslim captivity, left their ancestral land. They did not bring with them the latest musical fashion of Constantinople, nor the beautiful and precious art of the refined protopsaltes, but they brought an archaic, mountainous regional tradition, a tradition that comes from the 4th and 5th centuries. But which in reality goes further back, to the time of the Basileis and perhaps even earlier.” This shows that the church imitated the Labërian “Polyphonic” folk song.

But what do we expect from the Greeks or the Slavs when we ourselves try to stifle the song or deny its history and its role in the political, historical, and cultural development of the country? I am sorry to say this, but I am compelled by the facts. It is even worse when this war against culture is waged by one of our most prominent figures, Eqrem Çabej. Here is how he expresses himself about this worldwide cultural wealth:

“We hit the essence of this song better by calling it a shepherds’ song. The acoustic impression that the Labërian song creates can be compared to the sound of livestock bells.”

I do not know what he meant to express with these lines, but I feel insulted by his words. The Labërian song is one of the rare cases, if not unique in the world, which instead of instruments has man himself and his breath, drawn from the soul, which at the moment of the song is filled with pain or joy, with love or hate. Generally, those who do not know the Labërian song and its message well get the impression that all the songs are the same. A taker, a returner, and a few others holding the drone. But it is not so. The Labërian song is an exhibition of colors, of spiritual expressions, of harmonized voices tuned individually like in a symphony orchestra where every instrument plays its part, filling a space in the great world of the song, according to the theme and the voices. It is quite simple to distinguish and receive the message it sends. Their specific division according to their purpose is obvious. A song of exile travels on monotonous minor notes with a muffled and painful cry, accompanied by touching and melancholic lyrics. A love song resembles a breeze, and the drone resembles the trembling of rose petals at the moment they open into full bloom. In a song of bravery, the rhythm and the weight of the word are a true battle cry, the beauty of which only the Labërian song can express “in its genre.” So the Labërian song is not the ringing of bells from herds of livestock, but

To understand this and beyond requires more professional work and a broader artistic culture. Here is how the Labërian song expresses the power of beauty and love.

Partridge walking on the dew,
Bathed in sweat you came to me.
Now that I have you beside me,
I am vast as the seven seas!

What poet has expressed it so beautifully, and sung so sweetly and with such chosen words to the beautiful girl who does not walk, but flies? She treads on the dew so lightly, surpassing a ballerina, which would be merely a professional expression. Bathed in the rays of the morning sun to go to her lover. Look at her delicate image. The combination of voices to reflect her movements as fully and fragilely as possible, the sounds accompanied by a sweet drone that flows like a complete symphony, enriches your imagination and makes you feel pleasure down to the furthest cells of your body.

What does the listener feel in the song “Girl of the Waves”? This song comes from the centuries and runs toward the centuries, sweet and painful. Every time you hear it, it seems as if you are hearing it for the first time, and the desire to listen to it again is born. Here is its message. A girl has gone out to the seashore, casting her gaze into its depths, from where her love has gone. The waves murmur and she sings.

You beautiful birds,
In you I have a hope.
You who cross seas and mountains,
I want to ask you, poor me, I want to ask you.
Did you see him, is he alive or not?
Any news or any letter,
Does he send me, poor me…
Does he send me!?

Its drone and pain can only be compared to the force of the waves, and the depth of the pain to that of the sea. Deeply moved, she asks the sea to return her love, without whom she cannot live, and whom she cannot replace, as often happens nowadays.

Both of these are Labërian songs, but the similarity between them is divided by a great gulf of feelings that do not resemble each other at all, just as happiness does not resemble despair. Here is a third one, which is a song of heroes and a hymn

Its majesty is understood right from the title. When it is known that Ali was treacherously beheaded and taken to Istanbul, the Labërian song

Symbolizes.

Ali Pasha comes on foot.

Out came Ali Pasha, out he came,
His head is entering Istanbul,
With open arms the door stands wide,
The vizier waits on the battlements.

During his journey to Istanbul, the birds stop their chirping, the springs
flow with pain, the mountains fall silent... he is passing by, Ali, the Lion of Ioannina.

Ali...

Starts to converse with the mountains,
Speaks of the times, speaks of the troubles.

The lyrics are accompanied by a martial call from the taker, the returner joins his call and summons the group into the drone, which in a harmonized outburst resembles a group of warriors crying out. The long drone resembles a long funeral that carries Ali’s head victoriously into the capital named Istanbul. To make the song more powerful, the chorus is repeated twice to draw the listener’s attention and the values of Ali’s cortege.

We are not mentioning here the humorous songs, the nature songs, the songs about work or relationships in the family and society. How can it be called a shepherds’ song when its catalog of creativity includes all areas of life? Its colors and tastes are of the most diverse in terms of rhythm and form, and just as varied.

This has caused them to be divided from one another by their characteristics, although they are all dressed in the costume called the “Labërian Song.” They are divided into songs of Himara, Gjirokastër, Tepelenë, and into subgroups: the song of Vranisht, of Lazarat, of Lapardha, etc.

And something else that has escaped our honorable researchers from the tip of their pen or their professional ability to understand: True, up to now we have spoken about the great values of the Labërian song, but this was only half the job.

It is only one side of the musical art of Labëria. The other side is just as glorious as the first. We will also speak a little about the Labërian dance.

As for the dance, which is performed without musical instruments, it is just as emotional, captivating, beloved, and meaningful as the song. Most of the time, the music comes from the chests of the dancers, but also from the singing group. The combination of the lyrics with the choreography and its inherent purpose leaves the viewer and listener, caught between the words and the movements, amazed and carefully following every motion. From the wide shirt sleeves that open like pelican wings in the wind, to the steps and the red tassels like fires on the tips of the characteristic shoes. The fustanella unfolds at the same time, dressing the space in white and the red of the vest. To the rhythm of the lyrics, the dancers turn the dance floor into a hearth of fire that seems to roar with their rhythmic movements, igniting in the souls of the onlookers the desire to be close to it, and inside it.

I cannot help but mention here “Jelek verdha veshurooo”, “Rashë e theve këmbën”, and especially the humorous dance “Si e shtypim ne piperin”.

It is well known that the Labërian fustanella has 200 pleats in the shape of an umbrella, gathered at the waist. When spread out, it reaches up to 15 meters in length, with its width depending on the height of the wearer. When the dancer leaps into the air, slapping the red tassel on his shoe or the ground with his palm, the open fustanella upon landing resembles an upside-down parachute. In these moments, it seems to lower the dancer from the sky, bringing joy to the souls of the onlookers, along with aesthetic and choreographic delight.

When I watched them in my childhood, it seemed to me that these men were not dancing, but flying. This flight has remained indelible in my memory right up to the moment of writing this. I have never lived in the southern regions, but during school holidays in Përmet, my relatives would take me to weddings and celebrations.

Forgive me, but when Byron wrote of the “Sons of the Eagle,” he had in mind the men of Labëria he met in Ali’s court, even though we simply call them Arvanites. The Greeks took the fustanella, which is the subject of so much debate, from Labëria. And the same thing happened to it as we mentioned earlier regarding the song. They shortened it until they turned it into a miniskirt, stripping it of the true values inherited from the deep and ancient tradition of Labëria. In none of the world’s paintings that depict the fustanella—even those based on Greek motifs—is it shown shortened and mutilated. The Greek Revolution cannot be imagined without the song, the “battle cry of the Suliotes,” and without the beautiful fustanella that, in the heat of battle, makes the Labërian man look like a great flying bird with fustanella wings. It was not without reason that Byron immortalized this garment in the galleries of the civilized world.

This, in a few words, is the portrait of Labëria and its soul as expressed in song. I believe its values cannot be fully captured in a piece like this, but I hope this will serve merely as a starting point, to be followed by further historical-musicological, or ethnographic-topographical materials and beyond.

Author of the article P i l o Z y b a: [email protected]