All My People on the Floor Let's Party All Night

The soundtrack to life in Romania is a bouncing dance beat reverberating off the gray walls of the concrete apartment blocks that line the streets and out of every television blaring Kiss TV. There's "Ya Bb," Sam and I's favorite, "All My People," "Tot Mai Sus," "Freedom," "Never Be Alone," and "Senorita," just to name a few, but beware because these songs will hijack your mind; if one of these songs is playing nearby the beat just might captivate you from head to toe so you can't resist the urge to let loose on the floor. Just a warning. Romanian music is intoxicating, to say the least.

I went to a music festival that happened to be taking place just a block from my house, and I was shocked to see the mix of people in the crowd watching the overtly sexual performance by pop singer Andrea Balan. Wearing strappy stilettos and barely-there outfits to match their hot and heavy dance moves and music, this was not a concert where I expected to see elderly people. But there they were, older women with fixed gazes, clearly admiring what was happening on stage. This impression was only confirmed when my host mother and I sat down on a park bench to talk with a distant relative of my host mom and her mother: they were both gushing about how beautiful the performance was and the energy and costumes and everything involved. This is culture shock for me, having a mother who cannot shop in a store with loud, thumping music, nor give even the least bit of approval to suggestive music, dancing or clothing. Even my host dad, who is in his fifties, plays this music in the car, and Andre and Mariana Zaba, an older couple, had Kiss radio playing at their little shack out in the countryside while we helped make zacusca.

As of now I can only guess that young and old Romanians alike enjoy this disco music because its steady bass and catchy melodies drown out the harsh realities of daily life here. During my home stay my host parents Adina and Petre would often complain of terrible back pain and headaches, as a result of hard work in their multiple gardens and various tasks around their house. I think more of the pain is mental rather than physical because they do take an abundance of cigarette breaks throughout the day. One day my host father was explaining how the work never ends, and "asta este viata." This is the reality they live with in this rural Romanian town, and yet they seem to squeeze every ounce of life out of each day. They always have people dropping by to visit and eat "prejitura" (cake) or my host father will make a joke about the most ordinary of occurrences. They take their food very seriously as it is literally what brings the family, and even the gypsy workmen helping them, together; they don't want the perfect, chemical-induced produce from the supermarket, but they work the land to produce their own produce that is bursting with flavor. After all, sarmale (stuffed cabbage rolls), ciorba de fasole (bean soup), and cartofii prejit (french fries) would not taste the same if they were tainted by artificial produce, as I have figured out.

Romanians are still lost in the music of the revolution, having yet to fully emerge from the conformity and dependence that communism ingrained in the people. Gradually the music is growing softer and softer as individuals are enlivened to their own power to love, to create, and to think freely. Programs like Impact are drowning out the music of corruption and distrust, and simultaneously the strengths of Romanian culture, such as their dedication to family, their blunt honesty, their keen sense of humor and their resourcefulness, are creating a new kind of music, ushering in renewed hope of greater freedom.