Mónika Miczura is the frontwoman of Mitsoura, one of the most progressive Hungarian world music productions of the 2000s. Since the nineties she has sung in the band Ando Drom, as well as on albums and concerts of other bands in Hungary and abroad, and has contributed to numerous theater and film scores. She was the voice of the invisible singer in Tony Gatlif's 1997 César Award-winning film Gadjo dilo.
You have an unmistakably unique voice. Were you trained in this special vocalization?
I never took singing lessons. I did try, but my teachers didn't recommend it either, because learning classical singing techniques would probably take away the uniqueness of my voice. Having worked with professionals continuously for 25 years, I have absorbed a lot of knowledge. Plus, I have an absolute pitch, which means that I can accurately recall pitch and tone without the aid of a reference note, which is said to be a rare talent. It's no virtue, but it comes in handy for a singer.
You started out in Gypsy folk music, then evolved into a kind of Hungarian Björk, and today you combine traditional sounds with progressive electronics. Is the Mitsoura project your most authentic musical enterprise?
Absolutely. I live in a big city, I listen to contemporary music which influences me and I like to incorporate these influences into my own productions. It would be fake and pretentious if I still sang my songs in a colorful skirt, banging on a kettle, accompanied by a mandolin. What makes something or someone authentic? How many hundreds of years must pass before something can be called authentic? For me, tradition is not a dusty remnant of a bygone era, but an opportunity for current forms of expression. In the second half of the nineties I listened to Björk, Massive Attack and Portishead a lot. That's when I had the idea of breaking away from the traditional instruments and looking for musicians who could create the floating, atmospheric sound I've always longed for.
This effectively puts you in a class of your own among Gypsy musicians.
But I'm not proud of that. I do, however, see it as a problem that according to the pundits, as a Gypsy, one can only play Gypsy music, because that's what they are authentic in. Even 20 years ago, folk, jazz and restaurant music were prioritized, and it seems that even 30 years from now, Gypsy music will still be the same. Moreover, one of the positive stereotypes attached to Gypsies is that we "have music in our blood". Which is not true, nor are any of the other stereotypes, and this can be offensive or obstructive to some people.
When did you first encounter such stereotypes?
It became very clear to me when we formed the band, Mitsoura. We hadn't been able to play at home for years, and we financed our second album's release on our own.
And before that? How was your early socialization in this respect?
The first trauma I experienced on account of being a Gypsy was when I was seven years old, at school. On the first day, during the first lesson, the teacher told the class that she would like the Gypsies to stand up. I looked around and nobody stood up, I was the only Gypsy. I stood up. It was a strange feeling. The teacher kindly thanked me, and said I could sit down. I wasn't ashamed at that moment. I only went to that school for a year, but I remember that I did well, I was always praised when I read something out loud, and I was always teased during the breaks. It was like having a stamp on my forehead. Sometimes the other kids would pretend that someone had touched me, then kicked an imaginary ball, threw it at each other and screamed. I would sit on the bench alone and cry. Then a little girl sat down next to me and said, "I know you're not a Gypsy, you're just sunburnt." I knew I was a Gypsy, but I didn't yet know what that meant. I was scared to tell her the truth because I had already figured out that I was hated, although I didn't know why, so I always tried to avoid Melinda. It felt terrible to behave like that with her, but I didn't want to deceive her. The teacher could have written that letter C (Cigány=Gypsy in Hungarian) without making me stand up. (Decades ago in some Hungarian schools the teachers put a “C” next to the name of the Gypsy students in the class grade book).
Did you even know anything about the meaning of the letter C as a child?
We didn't talk about it in the family. My first real experience relating to it had more to do with music. We had a lot of records, but until the mid-eighties there were only two Gypsy singers, Margit Bangó and Pista Horváth. I was a very sensitive child, so at the age of 7 or 8 I already noticed that there was something very wrong with Pista Horváth's lyrics, because the image of Gypsies that came through in these songs was not in harmony with what I saw around me. Pista Horváth was singing very cheerfully, with earrings in his ears, wearing colorful clothes, singing about how good the Gypsies who live in tents have it, how they pick up dead chickens to feed their little ones, plus about how the wandering life is the most beautiful in the world, and this is why Gypsies don't have permanent homes. I hated these songs, it must have been this wounded sense of self that opened something up in me. From then on, I experienced everything to do with being Gypsy through fairy tales. I still read a lot, but as a child I used to devour storybooks.
What did fairy tales give you?
I felt that they were the only ones that told me the truth. Well, not the eternal truth, but the harsh reality. I noticed, for example, that the queens and positive characters were always blonde, while the negative characters always had brown or black hair. Gypsies were portrayed positively – as good thieves who are always in the right place at the right time. Just like Sárközi, the scab-faced Gypsy from Egri Csillagok, (In English: “Eclipse of the Crescent Moon”, a novel about the Ottoman siege of Eger by Hungarian writer Géza Gárdonyi) who was also a dubious character. Even at the age of eleven, I was terribly ashamed of the fact that he was always trying to take advantage of the situation. I have since learned that this is what is known as disguised racism, which is the most despicable.
Where are we now compared to this, what is your experience?
We've had artificially controlled repressive policies for hundreds and hundreds of years. Why is it any wonder that we are still in this situation? Let me tell you something. Gypsies don't usually attach much importance to the New Year, but on New Year's Eve, at midnight, they always turn on the anthem. (Hungarian state TV traditionally plays the national anthem at that time, the first line of the lyrics being: “Oh, God, bless the Hungarians!”) And then they fall silent at that moment, standing there in mournful silence with tears in their eyes. They don't say anything, the Gypsies just stand there silently, as if waiting for God to bless them too and put an end to this hatred. Then the anthem ends and life continues as usual.
From: https://telex.hu/english/2023/03/21/the-gypsies-just-stand-there-silently-as-if-waiting-for-god-to-bless-them-too
