Concordia CMLL Study Tour

Let me tell y’all about a man named Yiannis Kapetanakis. As I wrote my journal on the balcony after dinner, I heard this music coming from the bar across the street. It piqued my interest. It sounded rather nice. But I didn’t think too much of it.

However, I did go for a walk, and that’s when I got a better look and listen. It was just one guy with a single instrument (a lyra) and a looper doing all this crazy stuff. When I heard it, I thought it was a whole band. It was amazing to see.

But I went on down the street to the coastal end of town. There were plenty of other street musicians, but none of them could match him. They were generic, mostly singing covers of English songs. I went on with my walk, but I couldn’t help looking forward to seeing this musician again on my way back.

When I did, I was blown away by what he could do. I wasn’t the only one either, as he’d amassed quite a crowd. A few of them even started dancing enthusiastically. It got to the point where the waitress started shooing away people who weren’t paying customers. When I told her I’d already eaten and she asked “Here?”, I smartly lied and said yes. I took the opportunity to get rid of all my sub- 10 cent bronze-colored coins that I was never gonna use by dumping every last one of them in his hat. If the musicians at the Concordia metro are like gossip mags at a grocery store check-out, this guy is Doestoevsky. I must’ve stayed there at least half an hour. I wrote about these encounters as soon as I got back to the hotel, from the balcony where I could still hear him play. I wish I could’ve spent the whole night listening to his entire performance. But I got there late and had to sleep early.

That music had inspired me so I knew I had to add his discography to my collection. I got his name from a shirt hanging by him during the performance. His name was Yiannis Kapetanakis. To my immense sorrow, I could not find the one track that really got everyone pumping. I slowly figured out that he was an improviser and there was no master track I could stream. For a moment, all hope seemed lost. That’s when I found his Instagram, where there were clips of him playing that same song. Except I wasn’t in the video, and neither were any of the dancers.  The post was also by a German cafe with a different name then where I’d seen him. He was playing this same song in Germany! So it does exist after all. Maybe someday he’ll release it.

After this experience, I became hyper-aware of any and all lyras I encountered on the trip. As soon as we left Matala and as I was listening to Kapetanakis’s music, I spotted a giant lyra by the side of the road. The bus was going fast and I had to pick up my phone and turn on the camera then snap a pic in barely two seconds. By some miracle, the singular pic I snapped perfectly captured the whole thing, centered and unobstructed.

At the Folklore and Historical Museum in Rethymnon, I saw a small display dedicated to lyras. It mentioned a man who, while not a professional musician, was known for being a proficient lyra player in his time. All there was of him was his instrument and a single, blurry, black and white photograph. I looked him up online immediately, and, unsurprisingly, he digitally does not exist. He’s just a local hero, living only in the memories of the elderly and a museum display no one will ever read. Rather sobering. Much like Kapetanakis’s improv that is heard once and never again, this man’s music is lost to time, not meant to last but to exist for the now.

Today I found a poster for another lyra player when we were in Margarites. Clearly the tradition is still alive and well on Crete. In fact, if you look up what the instrument is called, most sources will tell you it’s a “Cretan lyra”. It goes to show just how strongly Crete identifies with the lyra and vice-versa. I’d never even heard of the instrument until a few days ago and now I’m in love with it. It’s a beautiful instrument for a beautiful island.