Many Greeks regard the popular rebetiko song “Synefiasmeni Kyriaki” (“Cloudy Sunday”), written in Thessaloniki by folk composer and singer Vassilis Tsitsanis (1915-1984) during the German occupation in WWII, as a sort of unofficial national anthem. This song, which enjoyed record sales when it was first released as a single, has been covered by myriad singers and recorded again and again, not only in Greece but in the USA, Canada and Australia as well.

It was first recorded during the brutal winter of 1943, when the as-yet-unknown Tsitsanis was performing with an ensemble at a small ouzeri that had opened at 22 Pavlou Mela Street in downtown Thessaloniki. Rumor has it that, as he was returning home late one night, Tsitsanis saw a German patrol kill a young man in cold blood. Years later, he told researcher Costas Hadzidoulis: “My heart bled at the sight of the dead lad and I, in turn, wrote a bloodied song.”

The original title, in fact, was “Bloody Sunday,” but he changed it over fears of censorship from the German authorities. This precaution proved successful. According to the testimonies of patrons who frequented the ouzeri at that time, officers of the Wehrmacht could often be seen sitting at the establishment’s best tables, enjoying Tsitsanis’ music in blissful ignorance of the meaning of his lyrics.

That Thessaloniki owes its rebetiko reputation to Vassilis Tsitsanis is an indisputable fact. Before him, the preference was for the demotic music, the plaintive laments and the Anatolian airs so beautifully performed by the Jewish-Greek diva Roza Eskenazi.

Like the Argentinean tango and the American blues, rebetiko was born in the early 20th century in the slums; it came to be identified with the hundreds of thousands of refugees who arrived from Asia Minor in 1922, bringing with them the music of the Greeks in that region.

THE NIGHTCLUBS

The different rebetiko bands that formed in Thessaloniki between 1938 and 1948, either with or without Tsitsanis, breathed new life into the city’s nightclub scene and led to the opening of several new establishments, with more tables, bigger stages for the musicians and a new emphasis on the menu to attract patrons.

Some of these Thessaloniki clubs became the talk of the country: these included Koutsoura, owned by Giorgis Dalamangas; the kafeneio Astoreia; and the more sophisticated clubs such as Mimosa, Folia, Aetos, Kipos, To Papafi – where Markos Vamvakaris appeared for a season – and Barbalias in Karabournaki.

The classic rebetiko joint was small, with 10 or 15 tables at best, and a small wooden stage at one end with three chairs for the musicians. There were no microphones or proper restaurant service. Food was limited to simple meze served to accompany ouzo or sweet Mavrodafni wine.

The program would begin at 9pm and end at midnight, when the public curfew took effect. After going over their repertory, the musicians would then perform requests made by customers who would, if they had the nerve, also dance alone in front of the small stage.

Of course, the rebetiko music that flourished in the hash dens before the war was still performed in seedy basements around the port, where the city’s thugs, jailbirds and criminals hung out. Several of these underground types collaborated with the Nazis, including the notorious figure known as Kerkyras, who owned a taverna at Vardaris and – according to poet Dinos Christianopoulos in a study he wrote on rebetiko – participated in the execution of patriots. Kerkyras was eventually murdered in 1944, right at the entrance of his taverna.

None of these clubs or tavernas exist today, unfortunately, but Thessaloniki does still have a number of musicians who are trying to keep the rebetiko tradition alive in new establishments.