Ulyana Gorbachevska is an innovative singer, researcher of authentic singing, and author of the first mythical opera in Ukraine. By combining archaic content with a modern form, she proves that folk songs can be stylish, spectacular, and truly transformative. Ulyana is convinced that high-quality artistic products change the world’s perception of us and our attitude. She restores ancient folk songs from Lemkivshchyna, a Polish border region to which some Ukrainians were forcibly deported in ‘Operation Vistula’ between 1944 and 1947.
Journalist Anna Lysenko spoke with Ukrainian folk singer Ulyana Gorbachevskaya.
You once mentioned that people sang even in the darkest times, such as during the famine. Do you see similar manifestations of Ukrainians’ inner strength through song today?
For ethical reasons, I will not name names, but among my students, there are many wives of military personnel, internally displaced persons, and children. I allow some of them into my classes for free. No one comes to me asking for ‘healing’. People intuitively want to sing, and songs really do have a healing, even a ‘binding’ power.
By shaping sound, you can get rid of certain blocks and bring something long-buried to the surface. Singing has performed this function since ancient times, accompanying every ritual of the human life cycle. The most powerful examples of such ritual songs are Kupala, wedding and spring songs because they are based on a cry – something between a shout and a song. Through them, people communicated with nature and the world around them. A characteristic feature of such singing was a powerful, penetrating sound, raw and very different from what we now call ‘nice singing’. Later, polyphony, social and everyday themes and dumas appeared. A few centuries later, secular songs and romances appeared. My task is to introduce people to their musical roots and help them produce the sound characteristic of our oldest singing models – monody.
You call singing healing. How exactly do folk songs help people survive traumatic experiences, especially in wartime?
What I do is art rehabilitation. When, for example, an actor who has returned from the front wants to socialise and return to his profession, singing can become a bridge for him, restoring the memory of his body and mind of his life before the war. The song itself is rehabilitative. My job is to help people sound the way they never could before. It’s an incredible feeling – as if your body and subconscious have been longing for that sound, waiting for you to bring it out.
Despite all the trauma and war, one of the most important things in the world for a person is still their voice. As soon as we are born, we cry. And then somewhere along the way, we lose that power. Why does such a small being sound so powerful, but as it grows up, it becomes shy about singing? Unfortunately, in the modern understanding, singing is often associated with low-volume, intellectual choral vocals. Life is not gentle on people, so their voices become more muted and their bodies more rigid over time. However, the soul still longs for that expression. Returning to one’s own sound can cause a rush of euphoria or involuntary tears as if something long stagnant is being released. That is why sound is the best rehabilitation therapist.
One of your latest and most striking projects is the mythical opera ‘Ukraine – Terra Incognita’. How did the idea come about? Why did you choose the genre of ‘mythical opera’ and how do you interpret this form?
Over many years of creative work, I have accumulated several songs that have stuck with me – as if they were asking to be given some form. You know, sometimes you sing a song, and over time, it is forgotten. But some remain, like grains of gold after washing.
I noticed that specific mythological themes unite them, they are three-dimensional: non-linear, voluminous, multi-layered in meaning and music. Then I realised that myth is the plane that can unite them because they will tell us about our archetypes, our vision of the world and our mentality.
That’s how five myths came about: ‘Myth of Home’, ‘Myth of Love’, ‘Myth of Kin’, ‘Myth of the Steppe’ and ‘Myth of the Iron Heart’, which became my reflection.
Many songs are dedicated to love because we Ukrainians are a heart-centred nation; other songs ‘grew up’ in the steppe – a place of victory and freedom defended by eternal warriors. The libretto turned out to be quite prophetic because I started writing it before the EuroMaidan in 2014. It was a premonition written in the form of a memory, which we look back on with excitement, but in which we no longer take a direct part. Everything came to life: the steppe, the warrior defending it, and all of us found ourselves in the middle of a myth, as if waking up from a dream. I am pleased that the finale of the opera features a very beautiful image — a tree laden with clusters of viburnum, fearless of rain or heat. I also hope this prediction will come true and that we will flourish despite everything.
Culturally speaking, Ukraine is still terra incognita for the world. What steps do you think are needed to make Ukrainian culture recognisable on the world stage?
Unfortunately, we are still a blank spot on the cultural map of Europe. Only high-quality cultural products can change the situation. The time of the Maidan revolution (Revolution of Dignity in Ukraine), where ‘Chervona Kalyna’ and the national anthem were heard not so long ago, is over. Our cultural diplomacy, in my opinion, is significantly delayed. At the level of state policy, powerful projects representing Ukraine through art should already be emerging. Like it or not, this war is very much ideological.
One high-quality Ukrainian project brought to Europe can outweigh huge Russian investment in propaganda. Their art has grown on artificial and stolen foundations, while our culture has roots; it is not just a substitute for some kind of display. That is why it touches the audience and is, therefore, one of our most important weapons.
It is difficult to raise this issue in society because many people think that now is not the right time. However, it is also very important to tell the world about ourselves through high-quality, meaningful products. This changes how people worldwide perceive Ukrainians and, eventually, their feelings towards us.
Why did I choose opera? Because it is a format that Europeans understand; they are accustomed to going to the opera.
However, instead of Italian bel canto, I proposed Ukrainian folk songs, elements of free jazz, and high-quality compositional music. In this way, we show Europeans that we can talk to them on equal terms and that we are closer to them than they might think.
At the same time, we do not have to imitate the European tradition and create another opera based on the European model. By singing folk songs with their authentic sound, we offer them our own colour, which has a place in the context of European culture. We value uniqueness. Remember Mykola Leontovych’s ‘Shchedryk’.
The whole world sings Ukrainian carols. If the composer had imitated Beethoven or Mozart, it would have become just another piece on the shelf of world culture.
Your appearance on the TV programme ‘“The Voice of Ukraine’” was a surprise for many. What prompted you to participate in the TV project? Did you feel a conflict between the deep meaning of traditional songs and the TV format’s requirements?
There were no compromises – perhaps that is why I did not make it to the final. When I was invited to take part in the project, I hesitated for a long time. But in the end, I decided that I could not pass up the opportunity to sing a Ukrainian folk song on a big stage.
Today, not everyone remembers, but in 2020 there was a lot of harsh Russification on TV. So I thought, let my song be heard too — just to balance things out.
I sang everything I could within the framework of this pop show, and I left at the right time. Today, I remember this experience as if it were something from a past life. My presence on the TV show was not so much for me as it was for the public. At least after the TV show, people stopped asking me what I do for a living.
In ‘Kolo Rayu, (Circle of Heaven), you combined elements of different regional styles of folk singing. How did you manage to archive this unity? What feedback did you receive from listeners from different parts of Ukraine?
Despite the fact that the principle of sound production in folk singing in different regions is mainly the same, I did not want to unify the regional sounds in any way. To unify means to erase everything that differs from each other. We don’t do that. Instead, I dug deeper, because the archetypes embedded in Ukrainian songs are similar. At this depth, a Hutsul song can easily meet a song from Kherson. For example, the track “Peremanochka” combines four Christmas carols and two more songs from different regions. At the same time, everything is so harmoniously combined that it seems as if they have been sung together for a lifetime.
I would like to talk about folklore. Did you participate in collecting and searching for authentic recordings, or talk to cultural bearers who passed songs down by word of mouth? Or do you mainly work with existing material, giving it a new musical form?
Actually, I am not an ethnomusicologist, although I have travelled to Kryachkivka several times to study the unique polyphony of the Poltava region, interacted with Dominika Chekun, an elderly female singer from Polissya, and collected rebel songs in the western part of Ukraine. Unfortunately, combining all professional fields in one person is impossible, so now I rarely work with primary sources.
Besides, almost no bearers of that folklore are left, and most of the songs were recorded before the early 2000s. I regularly listen to my audio library, get inspired, and try to replicate some sounds. Sometimes, the melodies start to collage in my mind, and I implement them in my project, Kolo Rayu.
A history of displacement has wounded Lemko’s culture, but it is very much alive in song. How do you think Lemko melodies differ from other regional traditions in Ukraine?
I explore the metaphysical side of song — its performative component, its roots. But this is a different kind of work than academic research. I don’t even know how to describe it.
At one point, I was deeply immersed in Lemko melodies and even created a project called Lemkovyna-Lem, which I am eager to revive.
There aren’t many recordings of Lemko songs. I found some in the book, ‘Maria Baiko’s Anthology of Lemko Songs’. Looking at the notes, I thought, ‘There must be such beauty there, I wish I could hear them, bring them to life through my voice.’ So I dusted off a few songs and saved them from oblivion.
Recently, we recorded a Lemko spring song with a Ukrainian violoncellist and composer Volodymyr Bedzvin. It is so melodious that if it catches on with people, it could become as beloved as Podolyanochka.
All Lemko songs have this interesting syncopated rhythm. They sound very bright and passionate, so I often call Lemko melodies Ukrainian flamenco.
Architecture, painting, ceramics — these are all material things, easier to destroy, but a song is like a bird, something that rises above matter and slips out of the clutches of barbarians who seek to destroy our heritage. The same is true of the Lemkos — the Soviet Union took away their land and property. But what about the birds? They are still flying to this day.
All songs are different. One chirps like a nightingale, and another caws like a crow. Each of them is filled with a sense of destiny: ‘I fly, I fly, Are you now in paradise? Will you never return to your native land?’ This is a song about a bird. But is it only about a bird? Isn’t it about the Lemkos?
Tell us about your school of authentic singing, ‘The Road to Personal Sound.’ Is it open to performers who already have some knowledge, or to amateurs who are just learning to sing? And in general, in your opinion, can singing be learned, since it is not a common craft, but rather a gift that is given to a person from birth?
I have a basic course that is suitable for everyone, regardless of experience. Sometimes a person doesn’t even suspect that they already have this folk sound within them. You only need to give them the right exercises, and they immediately start to sound good. Whether it’s worth becoming a singer after that is another question. Some people find it a source of enjoyment and self-discovery, some start to take it seriously and eventually join a folk group. And for some, it’s enough just to know that they can do it, try out the sound and tick it off their list in a good way.
In addition, there are intermediate courses for those who are already familiar with folk singing, have some experience and want to deepen their knowledge by mastering more nuances and professional subtleties.
Everyone should sing. Singing is not for a select class of people, so it is called folk. I really want singing to become fashionable again. I want the stereotype that singing is only for the chosen few to disappear. I want folk songs to become a truly social phenomenon. My main goal in the professional field is to make as many people as possible fall in love with folk singing.
Should there be a special group of advanced singers? Of course. And if you think that there weren’t any in the past, you are very much mistaken. Every village in Ukraine had its own group of singers. They were called to weddings, christenings, funerals, and so on.
In addition, it is necessary to nurture a new generation of ethnomusicologists, capable of reconstructing and multiplying Ukrainian cultural traditions. To do this, we must realise that tradition is not something frozen in time. It is what we live here and now. If we decide not to move forward with what has been created before us, stagnation will begin. A little creative rethinking never hurts. For example, the Lemko spring song I mentioned earlier was missing a third verse. I looked everywhere for it, but couldn’t find it. What else could I do? I sat down and made it up myself. Why not? When I was learning the song ‘Snezhki’ from the village of Kryachkivka, I had no idea that the local singer Hanna Yakymivna Popko had written the last verse. In other words, I found the person who wrote the words to a traditional song.
What new projects can you announce? What are you working on, what are your dreams?
I am planning to record new tracks for Kolo Rayu. I have written several songs for a documentary film that explores the influence of sound on people. I want to revive the Lemkovyna-Lem project. I have been thinking about an opera called Cosmos for a long time, dedicated to the first song in human history that was heard in space – ‘I look at the sky and think…’. I dream that the whole world will learn about this through our artistic work.
But most of all, I want to hold on to my desire to create. War is hard. Every cell is focused on survival. Completely different processes also occupy the area that should be responsible for creativity. However, we must not forget that war is not only about the physical but also about the spiritual. Every day, we must seek a healthy balance – to sew together our sky and the ground beneath our feet.
Author: Anna Lysenko
Ukrainian language editor: Anastasia Zanuzdanova
English language editor: Helen Lewis
Photos were kindly sent by Uliana Horbachevska
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