Gabriella Ghermandi is a singer, performer and writer born in Addis Ababa in 1965 to an Italian father and an Italian-Eritrean mother raised in Ethiopia. Ghermandi moved to Italy in 1979, during the harsh repression of the military Derg regime in Ethiopia. Her work has always revolved around the complex relationship between her two countries. In 2010, she created a musical ensemble, the Atse Tewodros Project, a collective of Italian and Ethiopian musicians dedicated to fostering mutual dialogue and artistic creation. The group produces songs in eight different languages, and derives inspiration from the indigenous music of Ethiopia's highland ethnic groups, Kunama, Gamo, Gofa and others.
Afropop Worldwide caught a beautiful live set by the ensemble at the Sauti Za Busara Festival in Zanzibar in 2023, but it was hearing the group's album Maqeda that really piqued our interest. The album skillfully spans a range of genres from Ethio-jazz to traditional adaptations and pop songs. The players' both Ethiopian instruments (krar lute, masinko fiddle, washint flute) and Western ones is confident and superb throughout. The melodies are strong and memorable, as are the messages, largely focused on the challenges and triumphs of women throughout history that so fascinates Ghermandi. Afropop's Banning Eyre reached her recently in Italy to learn more about her life and work. Here's their conversation. The interview has been edited for clarity.
Banning Eyre: Gabriella, thank you for speaking with me. I'm very interested in this project. You may recall that we met at briefly at Sauti Za Busara after your your performance there. And then I heard the record which I've now listened to many times. It's rare to hear such a variety of Ethiopian sounds done so well. I want to hear the story behind the music. To start, introduce yourself.
Gabriel Ghermandi: I'm an Ethiopian -Italian writer, performer, musician, singer. I grew up in Ethiopia until I was 14 years old. Then during the time of the dictatorship, I left Ethiopia for Italy. I do work in Italy but I've always been very much in love with my motherland, and at the age of 28, I went back to Ethiopia for the first time after the fall of the dictatorship. All my artistic work started from there because, first of all, I faced this suffering of leaving my country and not being able to go back for so many years. I had a time when I was completely lost because it's the moment when your inner view as a child meets the world of adults. When I came to Italy, the world of adults was not what it was supposed to be, because I had grown up in Ethiopia. It was another country, like an imposter. This created great conflict in me. I had to heal from this when I went back to Ethiopia and started my work as an artist.
It seems that your parents' complex experiences between these two countries has really shaped your life and your perspective as an artist.
Yes, of course, because part of my life was very much influenced by Western countries and especially from my mother, because she faced the racial hatred in Ethiopia that was brought by fascist Italians, and so when I arrived in Italy, I realized many things. The first thing was that I had always been a little bit snobbish about my country, thinking it was a country without value. And then when I arrived here I understood that I had been a victim of propaganda, Western propaganda.
You know, those of us who are fans and followers of African music tend to glorify the 1960s and early '70s and Addis as this incredible time for the music that was produced there. I'm talking about the music we hear on the Ethiopiques album series, "Swinging Addis," as the phrase goes. You were there during those years. You were very young, but what do you remember about that early time?
I remember that we had music on every corner. Amha Record shop was in the piazza near my mother's shop. And we had a music shop that was right next to my mother's; they shared the same wall. It was Melody Shop, the first shop that used to sell records from abroad.
And there was this fine thing that in the morning the first person to ask the lady to play the compilation of the day was the one that would lead the music of the street. I grew up listening to many types of music and, of course, Ethiopian music. We had a lot of stories. We had this bar that was frequented by Alèmayèhu Eshèté, and he used to love a lot of rock musicians like Elvis Presley. So of course I grew up with them. But the funny thing is that I absorbed all this without being conscious. I just realized when I was adult that this was under my skin.
You were young and this was just the world you lived in.
Yeah. We used to go to dances. I have a big brother, and he used to bring me with him to parties, and also to this nightclub. That was a wonderful place, but because of the curfew, we could not go home after midnight. If we were there after midnight, we'd have to be there all night. And I was just a kid.
I've heard about those all-night events caused by the midnight curfew, and I know that Alèmayèhu Eshèté was one of the artists who stayed in Addis during the early years of the Derg. You experienced that.
Yes. I went with my brother. And when that happened I just sat or slept on the chairs while they were still dancing. Alèmayèhu Eshèté was there, and the songs were going all night long. Then we had this very particular place called V\Bar Patrice Lumumba in Arada sefer. I don't know how to explain that in English the meaning. Arada is smart person who gets drunk. We used to say that Arada people don't have their front teeth because they always get drunk and fall and this is the first part that hits the ground, the teeth.
Wow.
Mahmoud Ahmed was part of the Police Band, and he was going there to sing. And there was always one person that was checking at the door to see that no one from the Police Band was coming to check if they were there. Because if they were seen there, they had the punishment of not going out to perform for 15 days, because they went to public places to sing. They were supposed to sing in places where people were going to pay. It was incredible. I have a lot of stories about that time.
I'm sure you do. That's very vivid. It's a fascinating world of music that people are quite focused on these days, mostly because of those Ethiopiques recordings. You said that you are both a writer and a musician, and I relate, because I do both those things too. How do you see these two art forms talking to each other, or fulfilling different parts of your creative impulse?
There is one thing I need to say. In my country, you used to tell a story by writing, by storytelling and by music. So there's no conflict between them. It's gradations of the same color. But for sure there is a big difference between touring and writing. When I tour I cannot write because music is something that goes out from inside, and writing is something where you have to fall into yourself. So when I'm on tour, I'm not able to write. It's something where you have to give to the people, 100%. And when I write, I cannot go on tour. You have to fall into your inner world, which is very deep, and you cannot be focused on anything outside. But I can think about music and writing at the same.
Tell me how the Atse Tewodros project began.
I wanted to give a performance for the anniversary of a massacre that was ordered by Marshal Rodolfo Graziani, a fascist general in Ethiopia. He was the vice-royal of Ethiopia during the fascist time. And you know, I went there to sing for the old country, some of the war songs. But I was afraid before starting to sing because I said to myself, "My father actually arrived in Ethiopia with the fascists. So someone might stand and say, 'Who you are? What do you want from us? Your father was one of them."'
And so I was very afraid but when I started singing, they all stood and started to scream. The women filled the air with a feeling of joy. (She ululates) There were actually only four women who had been in the Italian occupation, very old, around 92, 93 years old, and they came to me to say, "Please sing our war songs to the world, because no one remembers us, even our young people." And so this is how it started. I said to myself that if we have to recognize what they have done we have to be Italian, and try to keep everyone together. This is the reason why the group is mixed. Because when you talk about freedom, it's very slippery. You fall into the question of being considered part of a nation. Sometimes you can feel that there are some sounds that are not good.
Tell me about Atse Tewodros II himself, the historical figure. I understand that he was Emperor of Ethiopia from 1855-1868, but I don't know much more about him.
In Ethiopia, the rulers have always been of the royal lineage, and he was not of the royal family. He was just a graduate from the military service. But he managed to become the Emperor of Ethiopia and he was the first one who unified Ethiopia. He was also the first who fought the tentative colonization of Ethiopia by Queen Victoria. I chose this name because in Ethiopia we had on Saturday morning a program on TV where there was a storyteller. And he used to tell us this story of the advance guard from Queen Victoria who came to visit Ethiopia to see if it was compatible, and Atse Tewodros let them in and he gave them permission to go around the country.
But then when they had to leave, the Emperor forced them to wash themselves and their clothes before going on the boat. Then he said, "This is my message to your queen. You will not take anything out of this country, not even the dust." Initially, my decision to use this name was because of my childhood and the stories we had listened to on the TV. It was only later that I realized that I had chosen the name of the Emperor who first resisted colonization from Europe.
That's powerful. Let's talk about this album, Makeda, which I gather is your second album. On this one, you're dealing with the role of women and you have a particular focus on the Queen of Sheba. I wonder, have you heard the project that Angelique Kidjo and Ibrahim Maalouf did about the Queen of Sheba?
I didn't know about it until our album was out. I don't know if you know Marco Boccitto. He's a director of Italian radio. He told me he was going to make a program focused on the different Queen of Sheba projects that were created this year, because there were many. And there I found out that Angelique Kidjo and Ibrahim Maalouf wrote this wonderful piece.
It's beautiful, very different from yours, but also excellent. Let's talk about some of your songs. Let's start with the first one, "Set Nat." It's a strong start with that brisk triplet beat and wailing masinko violin. What's that song saying?
It means, "You're female." You know in Ethiopia there's a way of saying when a man has an achievement of any kind, you stop him and say, "Wow, you're a man." You became the president of Ethiopia and they tell you, "Wow, you're a man." You cook two eggs in the right way, "Wow, you're a man."
There was a female poet and she told me, "I'm so tired of hearing this, it's not enough that we are a woman?" And we wrote this poem together and then I wanted very much to be in this song also something that was very traditional. You can hear there is a choir at a certain point. (She sings) This is a question and answer. It's a song of harvest, but it's a song also of being brave. It's very, very traditional. So we tried to mix something that is very much rooted, but at the same time a new vision. There is a trope inside of the song. We have a synth that's making the solo together with the washint, a very traditional cane flute. In Ethiopia, the Japanese musicians, when they want to call this one, they don't call the title. They say, okay, let's go with the chickchika.
Ah. They call it by its rhythm, not its title. Let's talk about the song "Boncho." First, tell me about the style of the song.
This song has its root in the traditions in the Dorze community, which is part of the Gamo people. This is one of the ethnic groups that has polyphonic choirs. Usually, it's a 4/4 rhythm, but we mix it. The first part is 4/4 and the second part is 6/8. We wanted to have the polyphony that I always find in those women choirs. But we also wanted to have the dance too, because it's a song that prepares you for hunting lions to save the people in the village from attacks by lions. So it's the movement. (She sings the rhythm.) It's the dance you make when you prepare yourself to hunt a lion with a spear.
And then we go to the 6/8, which is kind of underlining what you are going to do. I'm going to do this. I'm going to fix this thing. So you say, first of all, "Listen to me. Number one: I tell you, you are going to do this with the women. Number two: you need to remember the mothers. Number three..." So it goes like this in the 6/8 part.
You are talking about women, and obviously, there are issues with women's rights everywhere in the world, but to the extent that you're specifically talking about Ethiopia, what is your message?
First of all, I need to tell you that this album was an answer to something that arrived in Ethiopia in 2016. With British support, Nike Foundation put up a lot of funds to create the Spice Girls of Ethiopia. I don't know if you heard about this. For me, it was like a punch because Ethiopia is a very pro-woman country from my point of view. Of course, we have some traditions that are not helping women, like early marriage or many other things. But we are used to uniting the country together with men. You know, in Ethiopia people used to say if the human being stands on two legs, it could be nothing else than a woman. That's why they found Lucy in Ethiopia. Because the woman is the one that went to check what's going with her children.
Fascinating.
I never had the feeling that I grew up in a patriarchal country in Ethiopia. I feel this much more in Italy than in Ethiopia. For example, in Ethiopia, if you are a lonely woman, you can adopt children. In Italy, you cannot adopt children if you are not married. And in Italy, the family law said that women could not raise their children if the husband died; that was changed only in 1976. Until 1976, if a man was dying, his wife was not allowed to be in charge of raising her children. The responsibility had to be with a man. It could be the father of the lady or the brother of her husband, but it was in the hands of someone else. We never had that in Ethiopia. Ethiopia had a lot of queens. The epic history of Ethiopia starts with a woman.
So I wanted to say on this album that we have to stop being focused on stereotypes. Because each culture has the possibility of teaching something. If you are thinking, "Wow, at least I'm lucky because I'm a white woman," this is not true. There is a chart of 146 countries on the gap between men and women. And this gap is measured by four points of valuation. Of 146, Italy this year is at number 83, and Ethiopia is at number 66. And Rwanda and another African country are in the first 20 countries. So when talking about women, women themselves really need to ask if they live in a country that has women empowerment, or is this only the story we are told?
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That's very interesting, and I take your point that there are many ways to measure status and power. Let's come back to music for a second. I want to talk about the song "Dink Hona," which has the feel of Ethio-jazz, reminiscent of Mulato Astatke's classic work. The song is talking about bitterness, and it has this chaotic section in the middle. I imagine that that's the bitterness coming out, right?
Yeah, but this is not only the bitterness. It's the background of our pianist who is jazz-trained. He has this love of polyrhythmic music. So if you listen to his solo, you hear these different rhythms going together. The bass and the krar(lute) stay on the same rhythm all the time while the drum and the piano break rhythms. They take other rhythms, creating a musical drawing that is very different from the background rhythm. I really love that.
I love that too. Beautiful. And then you have a couple of songs that feel more modern. "Hendeke" is kind of a minor key reggae. And I love the song's evocation of the queen who guided her army while standing on the backs of elephants.
Yeah. This is the story we were told. So when I was a child, they used to say, "You have to be as brave as Hendeke. She guided her army standing on the elephant and she stopped Alexander the Great this way."
Such an image.
So this was how I grew up, hearing that I needed to be, that I was allowed to be, as brave as her. You are Ethiopian. So the Meroe Kingdom was actually not part of Ethiopia, but part of South Sudan. But during the Aksumite Empire, from 200 until 900, there had been almost 21 queens. And so for us, it's part of our culture. This is all the epic of how she was and how a woman can be.
The second to last song, "Baranche," has a beautiful chorus. It's kind of sweet, almost like a pop song, and then there's beatboxing and rapping.
(She laughs) Yeah, most of the work on this song was done by this composer who is unknown, but he's great. He's a young man named is Misikir Mindaye Barance. Baranche means peace in the Gotha language. And we wrote the song together. But he loves rapping so much and when we went to record the song there was also the pianist's son who was trying to beatbox and we said, "Why don't we try to put beatbox with rap?"
Good for you. It's a surprise, but a pleasant one.
And it came like that. I also need to tell you that this surrounding choir that you hear at beginning of the last song "Lucy" is birds. Some of these ethnic groups combine music with nature, and if you listen to this choir, you can think that you are in a forest.
I hear that. So what are your plans for the future of this project? Is there any thought of performing in the U.S.?
It seems that it's very difficult to tour the U.S.. I would really love to because I have universities that invite me as a writer. But when I tell them, "Let's come as a group," they tell me, "No, no. That makes our hair stand on end because it's too hard." So I would really love to, but let's see what God prepares for us in the future.
Well, do keep us posted. It's a pleasure to talk with you.
