The New York Sun
July 2, 2004 Friday
Oh, Yerevan!
By BORIS GULKO and GABRIEL SCHOENFELD
Is there such a thing as national style in chess? One testing ground
for answering this question is the recently concluded match in Moscow
between selected great players from around the world and the best
players of Armenia. The unusual tournament is devoted to the memory
of Tigran Petrosian, the 1963-69 world champion. The Armenian team
featured such strong players as Garry Kasparov (whose mother is
Armenian), Peter Leko (whose wife is Armenian), and the Israeli
grandmaster Boris Gelfand (who was a pupil of Petrosian). Despite
this array of Armenian (and near-Armenian) talent, the world team
won, 18.5 to 17.5.
The best game of the match was played by a genuine Armenian, Rafael
Vaganian, against the British grandmaster Michael Adams. Throughout,
Vaganian played in the unique style of the late, great Petrosian. If
Armenia can be said to have a national style in chess, it is
exemplified by white’s play in this particular game.
VAG ANIAN VS. ADAMS
(white) (black)
Queen’s Pawn Game
1.d4 Nf6 2.Nf3 e6 3.e3 b6 4.Bd3 Bb7 5.0-0 d5 6.b3 Bd6
More precise here was 6…Nbd7
7.Bb2 Be7 with the intention of exchanging the white knight on d7
immediately should it appear on
e5. 7.Bb2 0-0 8.Ne5 c5 9.Nd2 Nc6
It was better to keep control over
the e4 square by playing 9…Nbd7
and to meet 10.f4 with 10…Ne4. 10.a3 a5 11.f4 Ne7 More consistent
was 11…a4 and 12.Bb5 Na7 13.bxa4 c4 is not dangerous for black.
After the move in the game, black’s previous move is shown to be a
waste of time. 12.Rf3 cxd4 In case of 12…c4 the ground would be
prepared for Petrosian’s favorite operation, the positional exchange
sacrifice: 13.bxc4! dxc4 14.Ndxc4 Bxf3 15.Qxf3 with huge
compensation. 13.! Bxd4! Bxe5? This exchange weakens the black
squares in black’s camp. The immediate 13…Ne4 14.Rh3 Nf5 15.Bxe4
dxe4 16.Ndc4 Nxd4 17.exd4 Be7 18.c3 g6 was better; also, 13…Nf5
14.Rh3 Rc8 would yield a playable position to black. 14.fxe5 Ne4
15.Rh3 Nf5 16.Bxe4! dxe4 17.Nc4 Nxd4 Now the white knight will
dominate the board, but the alternative 17…b5 18.Nd6! Bc6 (black is
the victim of a beautiful mate after 18…Nxd6 19.exd6 g6 20.Qh5!)
19.Qh5 h6 20.Bc5 Nxd6 21.Bxd6 Re8 22.Rg3 would lead to unbear able
pressure on the kingside. 18.exd4 Bc6 19.Nd6 Qg5 Again black had a
sad choice: in case of 19…a4 20.Qh5 h6 21.Rg3 Kh7 22.Rf1 Ra7
23.Rf6! gxf6 24.Rh3 he would be mated on the kingside. Now however he
perishes on the queenside. 20.Rc3! Bd5 21.Rg3 Qf4 22.c4 Bc6 23.Qf1!
Qxf1+ No better was 23…Qh6 24.Qf6 Qxf6 25.exf6 g6 26.c5. 24.Rxf1
Rab8 25.Rf4 b5 26.c5! a4 More stubborn was 26…b4 27.a4 Bd5. 27.b4
Rbd8 28.Rfg4! g6! 29.Rf4 Kg7 30.Rf6! White has obtained full control
over the black squares. The position is a startling reminder of the
famous game Petrosian-Mecking from a Dutch tournament in 1971. Black
is condemned to utter passivity. 30… Rd7 31.Kf2 Ra8 32.Ke3 Raa7
33.h4 h6 34.Rh3 Rd8 35.Rh1 Re7 36.h5 g5
(See diagram)
37.d5! The final blow is on a white square. 37… Bxd5 Of course, not
37…ed because of 39. Nf5+. 38.Nxb5 1-0

Newsday (New York)
July 4, 2004 Sunday
NASSAU AND SUFFOLK EDITION
BY STEPHANIE MCCRUMMEN. STAFF WRITER
On Sundays, Josephine and Richard Cawley would often trade their
everyday worries for long drives east, with no particular destination
in mind.
They’d leave their house in Williston Park and head toward the end of
the expressway, beyond houses and traffic and loud things, and when
time came to fork north or south, they usually picked north.
Soon, they were speeding past open fields and the quiet gray of the
Long Island Sound.
They felt an affinity for it. They made the drive again and again.
Then one day Richard Cawley saw that a motel they often passed was
for sale, a one-story strip of 15 rooms along North Road, facing the
water. He decided to take early retirement from the phone company,
and at the end of June 1994, he and Josephine bought the place.
During summer months, they moved into one of the rooms while they ran
the motel, and soon, a novel feeling settled over Josephine.
“Strangely enough – you wouldn’t understand … ” she began,
apologetically. “I’m from England and my husband’s from Ireland.
We’ve been here 40 years, but up until 10 years ago, I never felt at
home on Long Island. I never felt at home until I came here. For the
first time, I felt settled.”
What Josephine Cawley found was what generations of Greek and
Armenian families have found at the unassuming motel they book solid
summer after summer: the paradox of a temporary place that feels
familiar, like home.
“They come here because it reminds them of where they came from,”
Josephine said of her guests, and herself.
Since the Cawleys’ Sunday drives, the North Fork increasingly has
become like the tonier South Fork: real estate prices have
skyrocketed as people from Manhattan have bought summer homes.
Wineries have flourished and some art galleries, and now Greenport
has a boutique hotel that offers reflexology and herbal bath
treatments. Billy Joel bought a place.
But Cawley’s Southold Beach Motel is much as it has been since the
1950s. It is all yellow siding and 15 screen doors that open to a
deck with chairs facing the water. And if its blue is not as bright
as the Aegean in Greece or Lake Sevan in Armenia, if the green does
not roll over hills as in Josephine’s England, North Fork summers at
Cawley’s are pleasingly pale and unfold like a ritual.
The Armenians, mostly from New Jersey, come starting this weekend,
and August belongs to the Greeks, mostly from Astoria and elsewhere
in the city. The Cawleys estimate that at least 75 percent of their
guests are regulars.
Soon, there will be Nick, who books the same room the same three days
of the week, every week, summer after summer. There will be the
painters and diamond dealers and the man Josephine knows as the
red-headed Greek. They will sit all day under an umbrella on the
coarse sand of Southold Town beach, play cards and fish for smelts
with nets cast into the Sound.
At night, as cars brush past on North Road, they will get dressed up
and cook the catch in the yard behind the motel. They will offer some
to the Cawleys, and the Cawleys will politely refuse, and the sky
will turn orange.
“We’ve got beautiful sunsets,” Josephine said. “They’ve been written
about.”
Last week, she and Richard, who met 37 years ago at a dance hall in
Queens, were getting things ready for another season. Josephine
walked around to the backyard, where white lawn chairs were still
tilted against tables, and where she had planted a garden of
marigolds and impatiens and a pink tea rose she had transplanted from
her house in Williston Park.
Richard gave it to her in 1971, she was saying, just after a long
strike at the phone company that had left him out of work. “He said,
‘If they survive, we’ll survive,'” Josephine said.
This August, the Cawleys will have paid off their mortgage on the
motel. Richard Cawley says that Josephine always wanted a home by the
water, and now she has one, at least during summer.
GRAPHIC: Photo by Howard Schnapp-Richard and Josephine Cawley at
their motel, where Josephine said she finally “felt settled.”

Newsday (New York)
July 4, 2004 Sunday
ALL EDITIONS
An American dream
BY JAN TYLER. freelance writer.
Michael Halberian’s father, Jack, was a 17-year-old immigrant from
Armenia when he first saw the Steinway Mansion in 1914. In those
days, the imposing structure was the centerpiece of a 440-acre
country estate. Standing on a bluff overlooking the East River in
Astoria, the summer home of the piano-making Steinway family with its
lofty square tower “was to him like a grand stone castle,” says
Michael.
“My father was a simple tailor; he’d see the ‘castle’ every day from
across the fields on his way to work. To him it was a symbol of what
anyone could aspire to in America. He was a dreamer, but he was
determined to own it one day.”
His father’s dream came true in 1926 – the year Michael was born. The
25-room Steinway mansion, its property reduced to only one acre, came
on the market, and Jack went into debt to come up with the $40,000 he
needed to make it his own.
The house already had a place in history.
William Steinway had purchased the mansion in 1870 from the widow of
Benjamin Pike Jr., the man who built it. A manufacturer of optical
instruments, Pike had images of his stock-in-trade etched into the
glass inserts of a pair of massive walnut doors that connect the
mansion’s twin parlors. “The Smithsonian once wanted to buy those
doors,” says Michael. “But I wouldn’t sell them.”
The house stands in the district once called Steinway Village near
the Steinway & Sons piano factory. The family built homes for its
workers and added municipal improvements that included a trolley line
and a tunnel under the East River used by the city subway system. But
eventually the Steinways abandoned the mansion, where they had hosted
elegant parties, in favor of more fashionable locales and it stood
empty until Jack Halberian purchased it.
“The place was in excellent condition,” says
Michael, “but it had never been wired for electricity; it ran on
gaslight. For some reason the Steinways had shut off the water, which
was piped in from their factory, and the coal furnace sent up more
dust than heat. My father did most of the repairs and upkeep with his
own hands.”
Jack Halberian and his wife Shamie furnished the place with Edwardian
and Victorian pieces that complemented the classic backgrounds – but
they never attempted to alter their home’s architectural integrity.
All the public rooms – including a cavernous library and a demi-lune
dining room – retain their original glory. The parlors are paneled in
age-darkened pine, their 12-foot- high ceilings and wide crown
moldings encrusted with ornately detailed Beaux-Arts sculptured
plaster.
When his father died 25 years ago, Michael, a restaurateur, moved
back into his boyhood home with his wife and three children. “I put
everything I have into this place, like my father did. I wanted to
honor him and his dream.”
Now retired and divorced, Michael lives amid the fading splendor with
three dogs that patrol the fenced-in property, a lone chicken with
roaming privileges and a pair of house cats. He collects bronze and
marble statuary as well as historical artifacts and assorted
memorabilia that he displays on tables and sideboards and the mantels
of five fireplaces.
“I buy what catches my fancy at the moment,” he says. His main
interest at the moment is a collection of nonfiction books on a
variety of subjects, just a fraction of the more than 30,000 titles
in the library’s floor-to-ceiling shelves and in the upper gallery of
the center hall.
The gallery is reached by a graceful curved staircase illuminated by
a crystal chandelier 7 feet in diameter that he bought at auction. A
motorized mechanism of his making raises and lowers the half-ton
fixture that he believes once sparkled in a Whitney estate and now
hangs from a leaded-glass skylight 30 feet above the main floor.
Like his father before him, Michael is passionate about the survival
of the house. Which is why, in 1966, he applied for – and received –
city, state and national landmark status for it. He speaks with
reverence about his father’s vision and his mother’s warmth and
humor. “No one ever grew up in a more loving atmosphere.”
There was just one element from the mansion’s glory days that Michael
couldn’t preserve. He shows a photograph of the original cast-iron
portico and supporting pillars that distinguished the front entry
even in his childhood. Rusted and worn by time and weather, the
ornate portico would have cost $250,000 to replace. Reluctantly, he
removed it several years ago.
Now the still-impressive pillars stand alone – silent sentries of a
time before a waste treatment plant and industrial complexes intruded
on the pastoral setting, a time when the mansion on the river’s shore
was a symbol of the American dream.
GRAPHIC: NEWSDAY PHOTOS / BRUCE GILBERT – 1) LANDMARK: The 25-room
stone castle on a bluff holds on to its place in history. 2)
surrounded by History: The parlor’s intricately carved mantel and
sculptured plaster moldings harken to bygone days. 3) SPLENDOR IN THE
PAST: Michael Halberian’s eclectic collection of antique statuary,
left, is displayed throughout the house. 4) Below, from left:
elaborate moldings around the library skylight; 5) exterior pillars
stand tall against the vagaries of time; 6) ceiling medallion in the
parlor; 7) etched glass in the massive walnut front doors. 8) Newsday
Cover Photo by Bruce Gilbert – A half-ton crystal chandelier hangs 30
feet above the foyer in the Steinway mansion.

Los Angeles Times
July 5, 2004 Monday
Home Edition
Doubts don’t dog him
by AL MARTINEZ
I sing today of a happy man, who sits in the sunlight of a free
country, celebrating the right of individual choice, one hot dog at a
time.
At 35, Shawn Yekikian has for the last 18 years exercised that right
by shunning the big-time competitive world of moneymaking to sell
dogs, chips and soft drinks from a small cart parked less than a
block from the ocean.
“It’s what I want to do,” he says, preparing a hot dog for a customer
with the loving care of a gourmet chef, removing it carefully from
its steamy confines and laying it into a Vienna bun. “I’ll do it as
long as I can.”
He tells about a man who drove up one day in a new $300,000
Lamborghini and bought a hot dog. “I asked why a guy with a car like
that would buy a hot dog from a vendor,” Yekikian says. “He said
because he liked to help the little people!”
The hot dog man laughs loudly. He’s a big man, 300 pounds and 6
feet-plus, and his laugh fits his size. “So I guess I’m a little
people.”
He calls his stand “Rainy Day Hot Dogs,” in honor of his 4-year-old
daughter, Rain, whose name he chose because rain is gentle and
soothing. His logo is a hot dog in a cloud, with rain falling from
it.
I had passed his stand many times at Topanga Canyon Boulevard and
Pacific Coast Highway. There was always someone sitting with him at a
small table he brings so his customers can relax and eat their dogs,
and maybe join him in discussions of sports and politics. Music from
a portable radio plays softly throughout the day.
I love hot dogs almost as much as I love ice cream and martinis, so I
stopped by one day, and his dogs are delicious. Yekikian buys kosher
Shofar products, which he considers the best, and asks all his
customers “Is that OK?” as they eat, even if they have stopped by
daily for months and obviously savor every bite.
What struck me, in addition to the care he displayed preparing the
dog, was the aura of joy that seemed to surround him. I sensed a
happy man, and in a world of mind-numbing stress, happiness is a
rarity indeed. He lives no life of quiet desperation but rises each
day at 4 a.m. to face the prospect of doing exactly what he wants to
do from dawn to sunset, at least six days a week.
Bearded, with longish hair and thick-lensed glasses, Yekikian was
born near Boston, and although brought to L.A. at six months, that
part of him that loves sports remains in Beantown. He wears a Boston
Red Sox cap and a Boston Celtics T-shirt. His good luck piece is a
Boston Patriots cap hanging from the front of his cart.
He began selling hot dogs just after high school, helping an old man
who taught him the business, and decided that the life of a hot dog
vendor was what he wanted. It was a laid-back outdoors existence for
a guy who is easygoing and loves meeting people.
But his Armenian parents wanted their sons to be professionals. Of
Yekikian’s brothers, one is a lawyer, the other a dentist.
At first, Yekikian lied and said he’d given up selling hot dogs, when
in fact, after his mentor died, he’d bought one of his carts and had
gone into business for himself. Later, feeling guilty and wishing to
honor his father’s request, he attended college for two years while a
friend watched his cart, and he earned an associate of arts degree in
criminal justice. Finally, he told his pop the truth and won his
blessing to spend his life adding to the 2 billion pounds of hot dogs
Americans eat each year.
“I love this place,” he says, referring to the oceanside location, as
the number of customers increases proportionately to the going-home
commuter traffic. A man in a Mercedes stops to buy a dog. A young guy
in a pickup buys two, as he does every day. Then: a dude in black
leather in a black SUV. A motorcyclist. Two women in a yellow VW. A
Mexican day worker.
A hot dog sells for $2.50. You select your own condiments from
containers laid neatly in a row, except for the mayonnaise, which he
keeps refrigerated.
“This isn’t the most important job in the world,” Yekikian says, a
little self-consciously. “It’s not like being a policeman or a
fireman. But I like it.” He makes enough to get by, he adds. What
more does he need?
I write of Shawn Yekikian because in his way he glorifies America’s
basic freedom, that being the freedom to choose a career less
traveled. It is in the same category of not doing what everyone else
thinks is right, but setting off on a path of one’s own because
that’s what a whisper in the wind says to do.
Hot dogs may not be the healthiest food in the world and they aren’t
even native food, but they somehow represent us, and the spirit
displayed by Yekikian.
So celebrate America the next time you drive into the canyon from the
ocean. Buy a hot dog.
Al Martinez’s column appears Mondays and Fridays. He’s at
[email protected].
GRAPHIC: PHOTO: PICTURE OF CONTENTMENT: For 18 years, Shawn Yekikian,
35, has sold hot dogs from a cart at Topanga Canyon Boulevard and
Pacific Coast Highway. “It’s what I want to do,” he says simply.
PHOTOGRAPHER: Annie Wells Los Angeles Times

Xinhua News Agency – Spanish
July 05, 2004 Monday
Chipre y Armenia firman acuerdo de cooperacion en salud
NOCOSIA, 5 jul
Chipre y Armenia firmaron hoy un acuerdo de cooperacion en materia de
salud y medicina.
La ministra de Salud de Chipre, Constantia Akkelidou, quien firmo el
convenio, dijo a los reporteros despues de la ceremonia de firma que
este acuerdo proporcionara numerosas visitas de intercambio entre los
dos paises y otras formas de cooperacion.
Chipre ha cumplido su vieja promesa con Armenia al enviar medicinas y
equipos medicos al pais, dijo.
El embajador de Armenia en Chipre, Vahram Kazhoyan, quien represento
a su pais, dijo que hay una amplia experiencia de cooperacion en el
campo de ciencias medicas y cuidado de la salud entre los dos paises.
“Estoy contento de que finalmente seamos capaces de firmar el acuerdo
que pone esta cooperacion en un marco legal”, declaro.
Como un gesto positivo resultado de este acuerdo, Chipre enviara un
contenedor de medicinas a Armenia dentro de poco tiempo, anadio.
From: Emil Lazarian | Ararat NewsPress

ANSA Notiziario Generale in Italiano
July 4, 2004
EURO 2004: PORTOGALLO-GRECIA, UNA PARTITA LUNGA UN GIORNO ;
A LISBONA E IN CITTA’ PAESE CAROSELLI FIN DAL MATTINO
LISBONA
(ANSA) – LISBONA, 4 LUG – Inizia quando Lisbona si sveglia,
Portogallo-Grecia, mica al fischio di Marcus Merk. E sembra che
Figo e compagni si siano gia’ arrampicati sul tetto d’Europa,
perche auto e moto strombazzanti corrono sulle piazze e sulle
avenide della capitale per tutto il giorno. Ci sono anche gli
sconfitti, nell’immaginario lusitano, truppe greche che
perlustrano la citta’ avvolte nelle bandiere o con i volti
pitturati. Ti accorgi che la partita, quella al Da Luz, deve
ancora venire solo perche gridano e sorridono anche loro.

Per tutto l’Europeo si sono viste bandiere del Portogallo
ovunque, pendere dai palazzi, svolazzare dalle auto o dipinte
sui volti della gente: in questo quattro luglio sembrano ancora
di piu’. Come sono colorati di verde e rosso, anche i 25
chilometri di strada fra la campagna di Alcochete, dove la
nazionale portoghese ha vissuto questo Europeo, e lo stadio.
Perche quando il pullman che trasporta gli “herois”
nell’arena si mette in cammino, non c’e pezzo d’asfalto cui non
si accostino i tifosi, per applaudire e urlare: fra i campi, sul
lungo ponte Vasco da Gama, fino al Da Luz, dove a sera ci
saranno circa 62.000 spettatori. Pero’ non si gioca solo a
Lisbona, ma in tutte le citta’ del Portogallo, basta dare
un’occhiata alle immagini che Rtp 1, la pricipale rete pubblica
televisiva, trasmette fin dal mattino: raccontano del corsa di
un Paese verso un sogno. E allora ci sono bandiere e gente in
strada sulla Ribeira di Porto, o davanti ai bar di Albufeira, in
Algarve, dove in migliaia hanno deciso di passare la domenica di
luglio con i piedi nell’oceano. Fino alle 19.45 pero’.

Colui che dovrebbe condurre alla terra promessa e’ Luiz
Felipe Scolari, il brasiliano che, prima di queste quattro
settimane, pochissimi volevano, e nessuno amava. “E ora, mister
Scolari?”, titolo’ il Jurnal de Noticias, uno dei quotidiani
piu’ venduti del Portogallo, dopo la sconfitta nella partita
inaugurale, proprio contro la Grecia. Ora qualcuno lo vorrebbe
pure primo ministro, dando retta alle locandine appiccicate sui
muri nei pressi di Largo do Rato, nord-ovest della citta’, a
pochi passi dallo splendido Museu Calouste Gulbenkian, il
petroliere turco-armeno che dono’ tutte le sue opere d’arte al
Portogallo. “Felipe Scolari, I ministro de Portugal”, c’e
scritto sotto la foto in bianco e nero del Ct, ritratto in
giacca e cravatta dietro la bandiera lusitana. Intanto, gia
all’ora di pranzo, sui pullman scoperti, quelli che in tutte le
citta’ del mondo portano in giro i turisti, frotte di greci
gridano e agitano le bandiere: mica vogliono vedere la citta’,
ma vogliono che la citta’ li veda. Siamo qui, per sostenere i
nostri eroi. E per tutto il giorno non smettono i caroselli
portoghesi, anche con una sfilata di Harley Davidson, sulla
grandiosa avenida da Liberdade, che dalla piazza del Marques de
Pombal porta ai bordi del Rossio, il cuore della citta’. E
pazienza se, a notte, solo un popolo fara’ festa.(ANSA)

The Daily Star, Lebanon
July 6 2004
1st Beirut Jazz Festival hits all the right notes
Mixing international and local musicians, 4-day concert series lights
up Lebanese capital
By Jim Quilty, Ramsay Short and Kaelen Wilson-Goldie
Daily Star staff
Beirut: Now, jazz is not church music, nor has it ever been. It does
not require silence to breathe. Arguably, in fact, it plays best
against the clank and clatter of ice, glass, and a hack redolent of
emphysema. That said, In-Version, the local jazz ensemble that opened
the first Beirut International Jazz Festival, deserves full marks for
art in a hostile environment.
The secondary venue for the festival sits in the foothills of the
Marina Tower, the not-yet-tall monolith that will one day loom over
this site. The tower’s dedicated workmen continued their labors –
sandblasting by the sound of it – until well past 8.30pm, when
In-Version began their set. At first the racket was simply annoying.
Later on, though, as Joelle Khoury doggedly led her group through a
series of seamless post-bop improvisations, the noise seemed to
recede to become merely an unfortunate accompaniment.
In-Version’s playing was just as busy as the workers, but far more
melodic. It’s comfortable jazz, the sort of stuff first generated by
Miles Davis’ 1960s ensembles – and emulated by mainstream players
ever since.
There is a minimal audience, still outnumbered at this hour, by staff
and bemused photographers. Most are arrayed in front of the festival
food court’s several kiosks. Indeed, from time to time it is possible
to discern a smattering of applause, wafting above the soundtrack
that emanates from the Jack Daniels ad, running in continuous loop on
a flat-screen television.
One audience member, apparently noting your scribbling, asks if
you’re a journalist. You ask him if he’s annoyed by the Jack Daniels
monolith.
“Not at all,” he avers. “Are you part of the Jack Daniels Group?”
You assure him that, though you have consumed the product on a number
of occasions, you try to remain nonpartisan in your habits.
There is a good deal of Jack Daniels being consumed, in fact, a
pastime aided by the pairs of black-Jack clad, in-line-skate-mounted
youngsters propelling themselves around the venue in co-ed pairs. The
first such duo intercepts you on the way to the venue, inviting you
to throw back a chilled, paper shot-glass of the featured bourbon.
You oblige. Another is poised in front of a dartboard, inviting
thirsty passers-by to try their luck.
Later, in the In-Version set, another pair, armed with a miniature
crap table, glides by and invites you to roll the bones. “Try to roll
a seven,” the girl enthuses. In return for these exertions, she
assures you, you will be rewarded with a shot of Jack Daniels.
“Are you a journalist?” she asks.
“Afraid so.”
“Oh,” a wave of something like disappointment sweeps across her face.
“Are you being paid well for this?” you inquire.
She smiles like a plastic bride atop a wedding cake. “Well yes!” She
glances at her taciturn escort. “Well enough!”
The first act to test the main stage of Beirut International Jazz
Festival was Abed Azrie’s Arabo-Flamenco fusion project “Suerte.” The
stands were perhaps one-third full.
After an instrumental opening that moved from the Arabic vernacular
to the Spanish and back again, Azrie himself took the stage with the
Spanish vocalist whose crystalline soprano would answer his Arabic
sub-tenor over the course of the evening. Clad in a red, thigh-length
Nehru shirt, and dancing back and forth from emcee to vocalist to
maestro, Azrie is an affable thespian. He is evidently a gentleman as
well, insisting on starting his opening number from the top when he
realizes his partner hasn’t been miked. His vocals, however, are no
match for those of his counterpart.
Azrie’s Suerte ensemble is 16-strong, and at first glance its
contours would be familiar to anyone implicated in the Lebanese
supper club circuit. The Lebano-Egyptian rhythm section – tambourine,
dirbekeh, bongos and frame drums – and Lebanese qanun player are
complemented by a Franco-Syrian string section – violin, viola, cello
and double bass – and accordion player. Nationalities aside, this is
very much an Arabic music ensemble, but it is given a Spanish
inflection by a pair of flamenco guitars and a couple of
hand-clapping vocalists.
As this musical configuration suggests, Suerte is interested in
blending cognate elements of the Spanish and Arabic traditions,
specifically that “energy” that the Spaniards call “duende” and the
Arabs call “tarab.” Azrie’s biography suggests that this “world
music” sensibility is connected to the performer’s upbringing in the
ancient trade entrepot of Aleppo – where he was inspired by Greek,
Turkish, Iranian and Armenian influences.
This is not the first time that Arabic and Spanish traditions have
been spliced together. The Arabo-Andalusian work of Spain’s Radio
Tarifa, Elham Madfai’s guitar arrangements of Iraqi songs, even the
eccentric tarab-flamenco blend witnessed when Lebanese legend Wadia
Safi performed with the young guitarist Jose Fernandez – all are
symptoms of a common condition. Quite naturally, these musical
experiments express different degrees of seriousness and none have
been particularly balanced – with Arabic or Spanish elements ruling,
depending on the band leader’s training.
The same is true of Suerte. Here the flamenco component of the
ensemble is clearly subordinated to that of the Arabic. The
distribution of musical duties within the ensemble, too, is a trifle
utilitarian. Certainly Azrie is correct in recognizing the redundancy
of an oud in a group featuring both guitar and qanun, and it was
interesting to hear dirbekeh alongside flamenco-style hand-clapping.
It would be far more engaging, though, to have heard these “Arabic”
drums converse with the sharper percussive intonations of the Spanish
cajon (box) – a flamenco mainstay.
It is challenging to create a proper musical dialogue. This music is,
like its maestro, affable enough, and when it was energetic it could
please the audience. For the most part, though, Suerte was more an
exchange of monologues. There are points at which the ensemble
settled into a proper conversation, when the chugging string-and-drum
rhythms of the Arab-ish ensemble were not merely accentuated by the
guitars and the clapping hands, but moved onto a different axis. But
such transport was brief and rare.
It was a brave choice for John Kassabian, director of the Beirut
International Jazz Festival, to invite Jacques Loussier and his trio
to perform at the inaugural event on Friday.
The nearly 70-year-old French pianist was little loved by jazz
critics or serious heads in the 1960s when he took baroque music and
underpinned it with jazz rhythms. For them, jazz music had to be
rooted in blues. How could classical music – and how could Bach in
particular – be jazz? For the music buying public at large, however,
it was jazz, and it was popular – with Loussier’s “Play Bach” records
selling in the millions.
Though the crowd was not full strength on Friday – sadly but
tellingly so in a town where straight-ahead jazz is more popular –
Loussier and his trio enchanted the audience with magical and
accomplished improvisations on Bach, Ravel and Debussy.
In two sets of familiar works, a relaxed and humble Loussier
demonstrated how the spontaneity of jazz can link with the symmetry
of Bach – and both his bassist and drummer dazzled with intricate and
powerful solos on the themes.
Seated in front of the mock sails on the stage in Beirut Marina –
pianist on the left, bass in the middle, and drums to the right –
Loussier opens with a fugue that was blissful in its simplicity.
Whether on that composition or Bach’s equally exceptional “Prelude in
C Major,” Loussier demonstrates deft alternations, at once dreamy and
at once fast. His understanding of Bach is exceptional and technique
exquisite, but it is in his improvisational ability that Loussier
shines the most.
His exchanges with drums and bass are as tight as any funk band and
the trio’s understanding of each other is impeccable. In
10-minute-long solos, the bassist makes Bach jazz, blues and funk
with staccato plucking and dynamic riffs. His equal is the drummer,
with powerful cymbal work, brushwork and precision timing.
The Jacques Loussier Trio ends their show with a staggering version
of Ravel’s “Bolero,” Loussier leading with the tune and the familiar
snare rolls coming in thick and fast, moving the march along.
Earlier in the evening, local Lebanese singer Randa Ghoussoub had
entertained with classic jazz standards, and it was good to see how
much she has improved and evolved in the last three years – enough to
command stages worldwide. Post-Loussier, Lebanese percussionist
Ibrahim Jaber and the local Latin-jazz band Gros Bras played on to
end the night.
The Beirut International Jazz Festival – scheduled over four nights –
has been a musical highlight in Lebanon this summer, with
accomplished acts and a great open atmosphere reminiscent of Istanbul
and even Montreux. It has also provided a wider audience than usual
with a chance to see world-class musicians spreading world-class
music and opening minds to more than the average pop that is played
on most Lebanese radio stations. But with Raymond Gaspar, CEO of
Radio One in Beirut and Dubai, as President of the BIJF, perhaps
things will change.
There was a sense of anticipation in the air for the Beirut Jazz
Festival’s main-stage closer on Sunday evening. Shakti, the raga-jazz
fusion brainchild of John McLaughlin and Zakir Hussein, returned to
Lebanon – their last show being the cathartic Beiteddine performance
a couple of years back. It was a variation on a theme of Shakti that
took command of the Beirut Marina, one at once familiar and subtly
new.
Shakti is hardly a new project. It first saw light of day back in the
1970s when jazz guitarist John McLaughlin – having steeped himself in
the waters of fusion with Miles Davis and the Mahavishnu Orchestra –
got together with an Indian ensemble led by Indian tabla virtuoso
Zakir Hussein. A couple of albums were released, then the two
performers diverted themselves with other projects.
The project was revived at the end of the 1990s with another pair of
albums and a series of concert tours. The new Shakti was comprised of
a varied ensemble of veterans – bansuri (Indian flute) virtuoso
Hariprasad Chaurasia, playing a prominent role – and youngsters.
Percussionist V. Selvaganesh provides even greater depth to Hussein’s
rhythmic gymnastics, while incendiary mandolin player U. Shrinivas
makes a perfect foil for McLaughlin’s increasingly contemplative jazz
stylings – playing to McLaughlin the way Trane did to Miles.
In this evening’s incarnation, Shrinivas and Selvaganesh returned to
balance the principals, with an additional layer of complexity coming
in the form of young vocalist Shankar Mahadevan – seated in the
center of the stage. The evening opened with an extended piece of
free improvisation called “Karoma/Five-Peace Band.”
Those who know Shakti’s older work are familiar with the ensemble’s
ability to shift nuance from raga to jazz to “Hindi rap” – the last
coming from the interplay between percussionists Hussein and
Selvaganesh. Mahadevan’s contribution further thickens this fusion
groove. His skills may be grounded in an age-old Hindi classical
tradition, but he is to this mix what a scat singer is to a jazz
quartet.
With the group’s improv legs stretched, Mahadevan exited to allow the
quartet to run through some of their best-known tunes. The first of
these was Hussein’s “Ma No Pa,” a piece built around a progression of
guitar and mandolin interchanges and a sort of rhythmic dialogue
between guitar and tabla.
This concert provided a rare opportunity to see McLaughlin working in
a (relatively) intimate setting. The guitarist’s position in Shakti
is an ambiguous one. Many jazz aficionados and “world music” fans –
carried away by the sheer exuberance of the percussionists and
Shrinivas’ lightning-fast mandolin – have made the mistake of seeing
him as redundant to Shakti’s sound.
Like some of the most-accomplished jazz players, though, McLaughlin
has a habit of sometimes underplaying – a complaint Miles Davis once
made about Bill Evans, his pianist in the Kind of Blue sessions.
McLaughlin uses silences to color his notes and sometimes – as during
his previous, rather taciturn, Lebanon concert – his chord
progressions. For those who thought he was playing the silences a
little too much at the Beiteddine concert, it was a pleasure to find
him in a more gregarious mood this evening.
Indeed, during the dueling opportunities provided by fusion ragas
like “Maya” and “Finding the Way,” the beatific smile could
occasionally be seen to slip from the white-haired jazzman’s mouth.
Shakti was not oblivious to the audience’s needs – Hussein was kind
enough to keep the congregation posted on the score of the European
Cup final between Greece and Portugal. Nor could it be said that the
players were shy about filling-up the open-air venue with as much
music as it could hold.
Over the course of the evening the volume became progressively louder
as the duels between the string players grew more insistent and the
percussionists’ improvisations became more elaborate – coming to a
sort of rapturous climax during “Finding the Way.”
It’s just as well that the sound crew was able to pump up the volume
since, about half way through the show, the concert was in danger of
falling victim to a sudden barrage of ambient noise – in the form of
top-volume Arabic pop music – pulsating venomously from the hotel
district, just west of the concert venue.
“Nothing personal,” someone shrugged. “Just a waterfront turf war.”
>From this point on Shakti most strongly echoed the influence of Zakir
Hussein’s more recent fusion experiment – the Tabla Beat Science
project he authored with Bill Laswell. As the band’s sound system did
battle with the competition across the way, the amount of
reverberation and other playback spinning off McLaughlin’s guitar
rose to an elastic drone. Like jazz, it seems, fusion must learn to
thrive in hostile environments.
With her left hand banging away on a piano and her right hand coaxing
the effects of a keyboard, Tania Maria, the legendary Brazilian
singer, composer, and arranger, bopped her carrot-colored mop of
curls to the rhythms of the Viva Brazil Quartet. Maria and her band
performed a solid show on Saturday night – musically tight,
temporally to the point, and consistently, almost efficiently,
pleasant.
Maria has been a bandleader since the age of 13 (she started playing
piano at 7), and her modus operandi onstage is very much that of a
diva with a rhythm section. Accompanied in Beirut by a drummer,
bassist, and lively percussionist, Maria was all smiles as she
alternately kicked her bandmates into punchy solos, then called them
back into a mesh of tight-knit rhythms.
Born in Sao Luiz in northern Brazil to a musically inclined family,
Maria blended such influences as Bill Evans and Sarah Vaughan with
Antonio Carlos Jobim and Milton Nascimento early on. She spiced jazz
standards and blues traditions with samba and chorinho. At this point
Maria has, to her credit, a score of albums (internationally
acclaimed and popular enough to snag a Grammy nomination) that
experiment with ever more complex fusions, while still maintaining a
distinct and recognizable style.
On Saturday, Maria caressed the keys of her piano to make jazzy
melodies, warm with nostalgia. The quartet added a sexy, rhythmic
punctuation as Maria faded skillfully in and out of the background.
She allowed the other musicians to shine, until those moments where
her voice took over.
If Maria is a composer, arranger, and bandleader all in one, she also
carries the weight of at least two musicians on stage. She scats with
all the strength and nimbleness of Louis Armstrong, but she adds an
entirely new vocabulary of staccato sounds and smoothes it all with
the simmering fuzz of Portuguese.
Thankfully, the hiss of construction from the new Marina Tower, right
behind the crowd, faded after the first two songs, and Maria and her
quartet were able to pierce the night with the crispness of an
ensemble that knows how to stay in sync.
As she pumped the pedals of her piano, the sequins of her black dress
dancing, Maria gave off the grace of a vibrant if weathered performer
(her high cheekbones and puckered mouth have become more and more
pronounced over the years). Decades of performing in bars and clubs
have endowed Maria with a keen sense of how to play the crowd, and
she did so masterfully on Saturday, roping them into an extended
sing-along to a Joao Gilberto standard, and then stunning them with a
final round of scatting.
Maria’s performance did betray an element of being somehow
perfunctory. Her band was so competent that never did you hear a
rough note or a raw surprise. Compared to the mesmerizing night of
music to follow with Zakir Hussein and John McLaughlin, Tania Maria
and the Viva Brazil Quartet come off as solid, pleasing but a bit
ho-hum. If the Beirut International Jazz Festival manages to line up
one, two, five, a hundred nights as accomplished as this in a run-up
to a finale anywhere near as breathtaking as Sunday’s, it will no
doubt join the rarefied ranks of the world’s most prestigious jazz
festivals.

Egoyan’s Ararat wins top prize at Armenian festival
Globe & Mail
Page R2
UPDATED AT 9:33 AM EDT Tuesday, Jul 6, 2004
Yerevan — Atom Egoyan’s two-year-old movie Ararat won the top prize
at the Golden Apricot Film Festival of works by ethnic Armenian
directors, officials said yesterday.
The festival included 57 movies by directors from 20
countries. Toronto-based Egoyan is a Canadian of Armenian heritage.
The film depicts the plight of Armenians in Ottoman Turkey during the
Armenian genocide of the early 20th century. The title refers to the
mountain that Armenians regard as their national symbol but which now
lies in Turkey.
Egoyan’s film tells of the persecution of Armenians by Turks through a
tapestry of stories that take place during the filming of a movie. A
young man, Raffi (played by newcomer David Alpay), is stopped at the
Toronto airport by a customs officer (Christopher Plummer) who
questions the contents of sealed film canisters. As Raffi tries to
explain his situation, the story of the killings unfolds.
In 2003, the film won five Genie Awards in Toronto, including one for
best picture. CP

Armenian Assembly of America
122 C Street, NW, Suite 350
Washington, DC 20001
Phone: 202-393-3434
Fax: 202-638-4904
Email: [email protected]
Web:
 
PRESS RELEASE
July 6, 2004
CONTACT: Christine Kojoian
E-mail: [email protected]
GOV. SCHWARZENEGGER APPOINTS ASSEMBLY BOARD MEMBER TO HIGH-RANKING POST
Washington, DC – The Armenian Assembly of America congratulated one of its
own today, Board of Directors Member Lisa Kalustian, on her recent
appointment to a top position in Governor Arnold Schwarzenegger’s (R-CA)
district office.
Kalustian, a California native who served as deputy cabinet secretary for
former Governor Pete Wilson in the 1990s, has been appointed chief deputy
director of Governor Schwarzenegger’s Los Angeles Office. The position does
not require Senate confirmation.
A longtime Assembly activist and Fellow Trustee, Kalustian most recently
worked for one of the nation’s largest health plans. During her tenure as
vice president of public affairs at Western Region of Health Net, Inc., she
oversaw media relations and communications for Health Net of California and
Health Net of Oregon.
“As an experienced public servant and long standing Armenian-American
community leader, Lisa is a great asset for the State of California. The
Armenian Assembly is honored to have her as a member of our team,” said
Assembly Board of Directors Chairman Anthony Barsamian. “We commend the
Governor for his choice and wish Lisa much success in her new position.”
The Armenian Assembly of America is the largest Washington-based nationwide
organization promoting public understanding and awareness of Armenian
issues. It is a 501(c)(3) tax-exempt membership organization.
NR#2004-064
Photograph available on the Assembly’s Web site at the following link:
Caption: Lisa Kalustian

MINISTRY OF FOREIGN AFFAIRS OF THE REPUBLIC OF ARMENIA
PRESS AND INFORMATION DEPARTMENT
375010 Telephone: +3741.562543
Fax: +3741.543925
Email: [email protected]:
PRESS RELEASE
06 July 2004
Minister of Foreign Affairs Oskanian Meets with Russian Foreign
Minister Lavrov
Minister of Foreign Affairs Vartan Oskanian is on a two-day official
visit to Moscow. On the first day, the Minister met with Foreign
Minister Sergei Lavrov.
The two colleagues began by expressing their satisfaction at the fact
that economic relations between the two countries is on the upswing.
They noted that the Armenian and Russian presidents had also noted
this positive development during their recent meeting. They also
suggested that the recent creation of a Russian-Armenian Business
Cooperation Association may result in an increase in this
cooperation. Minister Oskanian stressed that economic ties between
Russia’s various regions and Armenia’s regions are also very
encouraging developments and can only lead to further productivity and
positive results. Further, the Minister noted that Russian businesses
and the Armenian economy will reap greater benefits as soon as those
factories which Russian companies had recently acquired in the
assets-for-debt agreements concluded earlier this year, become
operational. The two ministers also focused on the need to revive
certain transportation links to enhance economic development and
regional cooperation.
Armenian-Russian collaboration in the scientific, educational and
cultural spheres was also on the agenda. They noted the role of the
growing Russian Diaspora in the growing number of exchange and
cooperative programs.
Ministers Oskanian and Lavrov agreed to continue to work together in
various international organizations, including the UN, the
Organization for Security and Cooperation in Europe, as well as the
Council of Europe, the CIS and the Collective Security Organization.
Minister Oskanian informed his colleague about the process of Nagorno
Karabakh negotiations. Russia, as a co-chair country of the Minsk
Group, agreed that only a political resolution, achieved through
mutual compromise, will lead to an acceptable resolution. The sides
agreed that all parties will have to demonstrate maximal flexibility
and political will.
They also dealt with issues pertaining to President Putin’s official
visit to Armenia in the near future. Minister Oskanian invited
Minister Lavrov to visit Armenia as soon as his schedule allows.
This first official meeting between the two colleagues lasted one and
a half hours and was followed by an official lunch. The head of the
Russian-Armenian business cooperation association, Nikolai Rizhkov, as
well as Andrei Kakoshin, head of the Russian Duma Committee on the CIS
joined the ministers and other officials for lunch.
Immediately following their discussions, the ministers responded to
questions from the press.
Immediately prior the meeting with the meeting between foreign
ministers, Minister Oskanian placed a wreath at the Tomb of the
Unknown Soldier.