Today we are pleased to present a special installment of the Sound Archive, focusing on one of the best-loved Armenian songs of the 20th century: Anoush Karoun.

Here at the Sound Archive we tend to build our articles around specific artists and their careers, but we deemed it valuable (and in keeping with the season!) to focus this month on a particular composition, which has been interpreted by so many Armenian artists across the world and across genres and styles. 

The art song Անուշ Գարուն (EA: Anush Garun; WA: Anoush Karoun) was written in Soviet Armenia, apparently in the late 1920s, by the prolific composer Daniel Ghazarian (b. 1883, Shushi, d. 1958, Yerevan). At age 24, Ghazarian was encouraged by his singing teacher, as well as by fellow Shushi native composer Grikor Suni, to leave his trade as a shoemaker and attend music school. Ghazarian left for Baku in 1907 and the following year transferred to Tbilisi. He graduated from the vocal division of the Tbilisi Music College in 1911 and after surviving the upheaval of WWI and the Russian Revolution (apparently by travelling from city to city organizing choral groups for local students), he graduated from the newly established Tbilisi Conservatory in 1921. A composer, arranger, conductor, and especially a teacher for decades, he was one of the major founders of modern (Western) classical music education and practice in Armenia and throughout the Caucasus.

The song seems to have taken off almost as soon as it was first published. In 1929, Ghazarian made his first musical appearances outside of the Caucasus, giving acclaimed concerts in Moscow and Leningrad (St. Petersburg), as conductor and director of the performance of his own pieces. According to critics at the time, several pieces showcasing Ghazarian’s personal style were especially well received. Among these was Anoush Karoun.

The song continued its journey around the world when it became part of the consciousness of the Armenian Diaspora. Its popularity was especially universal in the Armenian community of the United States.

The classic melody seems to have been first unveiled to the Armenian-American community in 1935, when a performance of Anoush Karoun by one Loretta N. Movsesian (soprano, with piano accompaniment) was released on Armen Vahe’s The Orient label.

We have discussed Armen Vahe’s career in the record business before. Most of the releases on The Orient label were reissues of recordings made by RCA and others, especially from Turkey. This one was no different; Anush Garoon was recorded on the Polyphon label in 1929, in Persia (Iran), credited to Loretta N. Movssessian.

As noted, Armen Vahe was also part of the editorial board of the Hayrenik newspaper, which advertised the new reissue disc in August, 1935. In subsequent ads, the fact that this song was “beloved” and “sought-after” was frequently underscored by Armen Vahe. It also seems like he may have pressed more copies than even he could sell, since they were later used as giveaways, and it is not unusual to find several copies of this particular disc in old collections.

Throughout this research team’s collective work with the Museum and elsewhere, we have come across numerous home disc recordings of Armenian immigrants and Genocide survivors made in the 1940s and 50s in the US. In nearly every collection, we seem to inevitably come across a rendition of Anoush Karoun, often performed by a solo female voice. And that’s in addition to the plentiful copies of commercial disc recordings. The popularity of the song is obvious to anyone who has taken a look at the musical culture of Armenian-Americans. 

But in addition to the Movsesian recording's release in the US, the song gained acceptance and popularity throughout the Diaspora: the Museum’s collection includes renditions by Martin Keoshaian (USA), Hovsep Seraidarian (Lebanon), and Angele Varjabedian (France) — all of which we have included in this post — among others.

By the 1960s, the song Anoush Karoun had solidified itself in the Armenian-American consciousness. In the January 1966 issue of Holiday magazine, writer Arno Karlen, in a piece on NYC's Near Eastern music scene, described a performance of the song by iconic oudist/vocalist Chick Ganimian to a group of diehard fans at the Cafe Feenjon in Greenwich Village at 5:30 in the morning, opining that “Anoush Karoun…. is to the Armenians what Eli Eli is to the Jews — a sort of unofficial anthem of their sorrows. It tells of the happy days in springtime in the wild mountains of Armenia, before the great slaughter by the Turks, the annexation by Russia.” Along with the centuries-old diasporan anthem Groong (the Crane), it was one of two songs that George Mgrdichian chose to perform as oud solo pieces on the early kef album Oriental Delight (1958) by the Philadelphia Gomidas Band (billed as the “Hank Mardigian Sextet”). These two solos were the first step in taking homegrown Armenian-American folk music to a higher artistic level, with the oud eventually reaching Carnegie Hall in Mgrdichian's hands. The Anoush Karoun solo has been credited with influencing a generation of oudists in a new direction by no less than Ara Dinkjian.

It is fitting then, that we end this post with the classic 1963 New York recording of Anoush Karoun by Kay Armen (vocalist) and George Mgrdichian (oud accompaniment). At the apex of post-war, mid-century American society, a month before the Kennedy assassination, the venerable Armenian General Benevolent Union (AGBU) hit upon a novel method of fundraising: sending a free vinyl record to their vast mailing list of 25,000 people. The small 7” record they produced played at 33 rpm, like an LP, but was really a single: on one side it included a message about giving to the AGBU (by Board President Alex Manoogian, speaking in Armenian, and Kay Armen herself speaking in English), and on the flip, the song Anoush Karoun by Miss Armen, accompanied by piano and Mgrdichian’s oud. 

The lyrics of Anoush Karoun speak not only to the longings of Armenians during the Soviet Era or the survivors of the 1915 Genocide (like those among whom this song was so popular during the 20th century), but also to today: composer Daniel Ghazarian was born in Shushi, Nagorno-Karabagh, now occupied by Azerbaijan, and his ode of longing for the return of the sweet spring is pertinent now more than ever.

Lyrics: 

I’m waiting for you, sweet spring

And for the coming, with you, of my flower-sweetheart

You are longing for the burning sun

And I, for the springtime sweetheart of my life

You have a rose which enchants you

And fades along with your life

I have a sweetheart, eternal spring

Who remains burning in my soul

I’ll wait with sleepless eyes

I’ll keep the love burning in my heart

I’ll pluck a bouquet from the rose bush

And bring it as a gift to my beloved sweetheart

A special thanks to the SJS Charitable Trust for their generous support of our work to digitize and share our collection of 78 rpm records.