Leonard Cohen, Marianne Ihlen and the Hydra Years
On the Greek island of Hydra,...
© Illustrations by Philippos Avramides
If you ever find yourself in Kefalonia on a warm summer night, you may hear voices singing softly from a balcony in the distance, rising and falling in perfect harmony. Follow the sound to experience one of the region’s most authentic expressions of tradition: the famous kantada of Kefalonia.
The kantada, whose name stems from the Italian cantata – meaning “sung” – is more than just a song. It is a heartfelt gesture, a way of giving voice to tender emotions. It’s a musical offering that, although meant for someone in particular, is still capable of touching the heart of any listener.
Like many great stories, this one begins at sea. In the early days, kantades were sung by fishermen as they worked, casting and hauling their nets, keeping rhythm with the work.
Over time, these melodies moved from the fishing boats to village tavernas. There, men’s voices began to be accompanied by the guitar and later by the mandolin, an instrument that became popular during the Italian Renaissance and fit naturally into Kefalonia’s evening gatherings. Its tone, subtle yet expressive, became an integral part of the kantada: gentle enough to suit the quiet of dusk, yet clear enough to stand out.
Kefalonia’s location and history gave it strong cultural ties to Western Europe. In the 18th and 19th centuries, Italian opera troupes toured the island, bringing with them arias and operettas. The bel canto style – meaning “beautiful singing” – left a lasting impression. But instead of simply imitating, Kefalonians were inspired, transforming opera – then a popular rather than elite art form – into a more intimate style suited to everyday life.
The development of the kantada was also influenced by the region’s polyphonic religious music, already deeply embedded in the ecclesiastical life of the Ionian Islands. Local cantors, well-versed in the harmonies of Western sacred music, developed their own distinctive school of singing. Even today, during local festivals, you might hear them break into kantades after service outside a church.
© Illustrations by Philippos Avramides
© Illustrations by Philippos Avramides
The arrangements, usually for guitar, mandolin, and voice, may sound simple, but the harmonies are always carefully worked out. One voice leads; the others follow. The deceptive simplicity of the songs, effortlessly concealing their inner complexity, is a testament to the skill of the local musicians.
The kantada is, above all, a song of love. Women are its inspiration and its intended audience. In the past, however, women would not be in the taverna but at home, which is why the quintessential kantada scene is of a group of men gathered beneath a balcony, wearing hats, scarves and sashes, often deep red in color. The song becomes an offering, like handing over a flower: a fragment of the island’s nature in music form.
Nature, after all, is ever-present in the lyrics themselves. The Kefalonian kantada draws from the coolness of evening, the scent of jasmine, the tall cypress trees and the glow of the moon. The islanders’ bond with their land is visceral, and it effortlessly seeps into the music. The images are ordinary but steeped in feeling, and in that lies their beauty.
Yet what truly gives the kantada its distinct character is its sense of playfulness. Kefalonians are famous for their wit, their flair for self-deprecation, and their sense of drama. A kantada is never sung in a neutral way – there’s usually a sparkle in the singer’s eyes, a joke on their lips, or a smile that brings energy to the performance.
Though it began among the working classes, the kantada was soon embraced by the island’s bourgeoisie. It became part of Kefalonia’s social life, sung in salons, on verandas and during family celebrations. Its influence reached mainland Greece, inspiring composers such as Mikis Theodorakis, whose songs echo the kantada’s lyrical simplicity, heartfelt emotion and melodic elegance.
Even after the devastating earthquake in 1953, which destroyed much of Kefalonia’s buildings, the kantada survived; it still endures today. You’ll hear it in village squares, during moonlit walks, even at hotels, sung with skill by seasoned kantadori or spontaneously by groups of friends. For the full kantada experience, attend a village festival such as the August 15th celebration of the Virgin Mary or the Feast of Saint Gerasimos, Kefalonia’s patron saint, on August 16th. Outside of summer, you’ll still get a chance to hear them, as villages host their own festivals at various times throughout the year.
You might wish to enjoy your music with a glass of local wine, just as it’s done at the Robola Festival in Valsamata or Fragata, or you might want to join the lively carnival in Lixouri. For a more romantic experience, try to find a barcarola celebration, when singers perform kantades in the evening from boats bobbing on the moonlit waters.
If you’re planning a trip to Kefalonia, look up the song “Yalo-Yalo,” also known as “Eis ton Afro tis Thalassas” (“On the Crest of the Sea”) on Spotify. It’s a well-loved kantada familiar to Greeks of all ages and a great way to get a sense of the music you’ll hear live beneath the bright Kefalonian sky.
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