My dear friend Yanka has been in the hospital for a couple of days now, and it drives me nuts that there’s nothing I can do about it. She’s thousands of miles away. My language skills are limited, which means there’s only so much I can communicate, and only with certain people. I can’t just call the hospital - and anyone who knows me knows that I absolutely would if I could.
Last night I got word that she’s doing slightly better. The phrase I heard was “serious but stable.” I have no direct way to contact her family, so I’ve been sending messages and hoping someone can make sense of my Yoda-like Bulgarian.
I’m lucky to have such a friend. Yanka is incredible.
She grew up a village girl, became a nurse, and then life took a turn I doubt she ever expected. She won a singing contest, and suddenly she had a career. In 1971 there was the plane crash. Yanka was one of the few survivors, and the experience changed her deeply.
A few years later she formed Trio Bulgarka. Their music was already extraordinary, but the trio would go on to record two albums with Kate Bush - The Sensual World and The Red Shoes. As a member of the Bulgarian State Television Female Vocal Choir, she also recorded the album that became known around the world as Le Mystère des Voix Bulgares (The Mystery of the Bulgarian Voices), which won the 1989 Grammy for Best Traditional Folk Album.
Yanka has fans/admirers all over the world. George Harrison once called her the best singer on the planet. David Bowie loved her music so much that at his wedding he had her song “Kalimanku Denku” played instead of the traditional Mendelssohn piece. Linda Ronstadt has admired her work for decades - so much so that she appeared on Yanka’s 2005 album Keranka.
My own love of Bulgarian polyphony goes back to childhood. Dad had a pretty eclectic record collection, and I went through every album he owned. I could barely read when I first heard that sound. A strange melody in a mysterious language, sung in harmonies that sounded like they came from another world. It stuck with me for life.
About thirty-five years ago, a woman I was seeing gave me a copy of Le Mystère des Voix Bulgares. I recognized that sound immediately. Having my own copy of it changed my musical world in a deep way. As a musician, I started sneaking some of those unusual harmonies and little sonic ideas I had absorbed from those Balkan masters into my own work. I never talked about it much. I just did it.
Who would have guessed that years later I’d end up knowing one of those legendary voices?
The late musician and Holocaust survivor Alice Herz-Sommer often reminded the world that “everything is a gift.” I’ve tried to keep that in mind over the years.
When I suffered two strokes and thought my world might be finished, that idea came back to me in a strange way. I was sitting on my porch feeling sorry for myself while YouTube kept recommending Balkan and Bulgarian videos - probably because whenever I’m emotional, I go back to Le Mystère des Voix Bulgares.
One of those recommendations was a group called the Abagar Quartet. I finally gave in and clicked on it.
My mind was blown.
I had to hear more.
This was during the pandemic, so I went looking for a CD. Amazon had nothing. I searched everywhere online. No luck. I refuse to use Spotify, so that wasn’t an option either.
Eventually I found some contact information and sent a message. A week or so later I got a reply suggesting a website where I might find a CD. Still no luck, but by then the fanboy in me had been fully activated.
Armed with Google Translate - which anyone who has used it knows is not exactly perfect - I started reaching out to members of the quartet. One of them wrote back and told me she spoke English. From there, the conversation grew. Soon I was corresponding with the quartet’s director, Sashka Chenkova, a legend in her own right.
Before long, I had made real friendships with members of the group, and with other Bulgarians as well.
It was through Sashka that I eventually came to know Yanka.
I could tell story after story, but this is the heart of it:
Yanka Rupkina isn’t just a legendary singer. She isn’t just the pride of Bulgaria. She isn’t only a mother, grandmother, aunt, or a former nurse who survived a plane crash.
Yanka Rupkina is my friend.
And the thing that keeps coming back to me is a message she once sent, completely out of the blue, in the middle of the night (because of the time difference). It was short. Simple.
“I’m happy you are my friend.”
I have carried that with me ever since.
So yes, I’m worried. Of course I am. Not because she is a legend, though she is. Not because the world knows her voice, though it does.
I’m worried because Yanka Rupkina is my friend.
And I’m happy to be hers.
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