Rasa Ardys-Juška, Editor

Perspectives

I don't have any real memories regarding Lithuanian 1930s music except that it sounds so like the Fred Astaire-Zeigfield Follies-musical film tunes of America. I've always enjoyed the romance and easy style of these songs. When my husband's aunt, dediene Janina Bagdas, died, she left behind many, many albums. Among them were two Antano Šabaniausko albums recorded in Chicago by J. Karvelis, dates unknown, but I figure the late 30s.

After listening to our incessant beats of rock and roll when we were teenagers, my mother would tell us about how people in Lithuania would go to dances to tango or foxtrot or waltz to the most romantic voice of that period – Šabaniauskas. His name alone rolled off her tongue so deliciously.

During the Lithuanian picnics, we would climb out of our cars to Šabaniauskas over the speaker system. His voice would lead us to the picnic tables filled with friendly, talking faces. There was something so mystical when the grandmothers would pair up and start dancing under the branches of the trees, staring off into the distance. They would glide on an unseen dance floor with a mirrored light ball casting glimmering highlights on their aging faces.

Songs like "Paskutinis Sekmadienis" (The Last Sunday) or even the Lithuanian version of "Rose-Mary", sung with an Irish tenor-like voice evoke sentimentality for Lithuanian life as our national anthem evokes patriotism. The crackling quality of the albums reminds me that it is a life that I never experienced but ached for in an empathetic way. The songs brought such joy and smiles to my parents and their friends.

I put on one of the vinyl albums for my mother-in-law as she breakfasted this morning. She started humming and proceeded to spread the butter on her bread along with the soft tango beats in the background.