Last Sunday, the Chicago Theatre might as well have been a concert hall in Krakow or Warsaw.
The well-dressed men and women pressing into the glorious lobby at sunset, many in fine furs and fancy hats, might as well have been in their native Poland in better days.
Scarcely a word of English was to be heard. There was a special hum of excitement and anticipation in the smoke-filled air.
Nearly 3,000 Chicago-area Poles had turned out for the most unusual Polish cultural event in years–not the Warsaw Philharmonia, not the Mazowsze folk-dance troupe, not an ethnic food fest or parade–but a rare concert appearance by an elusive, exotic performer who has risen from cabaret singer in the `60s to idiosyncratic diva in the `80s, whom Poles of many ages regard as a national treasure, a cultural asset, a cult figure.
Her name is Ewa Demarcyzk (pronounced Eva De-mar-chick). More than a singer, she is an actress, a bard, a passionate instrument of poetry set to music. She performed at the Chicago Theatre in 1966 as part of a large ensemble, so she considers her current solo tour of the U.S. and Canada her first official appearance in English-speaking countries.
”For immigrants, it`s really a trip to the past,” said local documentary filmmaker Marian Marzynski before the show. ”She bridges at least three generations.”
”The newest Polish immigration group, who knew her from Poland, is proud to have Ewa as part of their background,” said Andrzej Suchonski, her Warsaw impressario and himself a former Chicago resident. ”She constitutes part of our roots positively.”
Demarczyk`s feverishly powerful voice is often compared to that of French chanteuse Edith Piaf. There are aspects of her performance that call to mind other artists — Janis Joplin, for her desperate intensity, fragility and chain-smoking breathiness; Laura Nyro for her ethereal and self-absorbed stage presence; Patti Smith for her manic, jackhammer delivery.
Ultimately, though, Demarczyk creates and performs like no one else.
She selects poetry that reflects her ”internal desires, depending on how my life is going,” she noted through an interpreter during an interview with Studs Terkel on WFMT-FM that aired last Friday. ”It is very personal, what I`m singing. When I talk about myself, I do it through the poems I choose. I never say it on my own. I am a musician and an actress by education; finally, I think what I make is theater, although the medium is different. I sing, I don`t speak. I create my own theater. It is a sort of literary cabaret. My face and voice are the only things I need on stage.”
Demarczyk draws on Biblical passages, and works by prominent Polish poets of the 19th and 20th Centuries — Julian Tuwim, Osip Mandelstam, and Andrzej Szmidt — as well as by South American, German, French and other writers. She then turns the poems over to Zygmunt Konieczny or Andrzej Zarycki, the composers with whom she regularly collaborates.
The results are musical vehicles custom-built for Demarczyk`s singular interpretations. Some of the works have the radical avant-garde sound of performance art; others are full of folksy Eastern European motifs. One, set to the poetry of Chilean Gabriella Mistral, mischieviously comingles elements of two national dances, the flamenco and the polonaise. In another, Demarczyk assumes the character of a gypsy, ending with a racing, dangerously manic laugh. Demarczyk has more than 100 such pieces in her repertory; she sings no ”old standards” except her own.
On Sunday only a handful of the songs could be considered new; many of the rest were greeted with the welcoming applause of familiarity, although the warmth was not directly returned. Her fans, though, didn`t seem to mind the apparent aloofness; it`s part of the mystique, the persona, the cool calm between the stormy, exhausting songs. When Demarczyk is on stage, she has the attention-commanding presence of a priestess, alternately withholding and sharing her soul. She is short, compact, intense.
Demarczyk stalked unsmiling onto the blackened stage of the Chicago Theatre with her eight-man instrumental and vocal ensemble early Sunday evening. She did not bow or acknowledge the audience, as is her style. She wore a flowing black gown and a silver cross on a chain, as she always does in performance. (She`s been dubbed ”The Black Angel of Polish Song,” although she seems anything but angelic in some of her work. ”Black Tornado” might be more fitting.)
Her jet-black Cleopatra-cut hair hung to her shoulders and her dark eyes smouldered in the dim spotlight as she launched directly into her 17-song program. She took no intermission and gave no encore. Frequently during the 90-minute barrage of music and emotions, she turned peremptorily from the audience to gather her energies and thoughts.
The ensemble of violins, pianos, cello, double bass, acoustic guitar, and drums played in almost complete darkness, and the light on Demarczyk was remarkably faint, an effort to create a cabaret-like intimacy, although it made actually seeing her expressive features very difficult. The lack of visual spectacle, however, which American audiences often take for granted in their performers, had the effect of concentrating this audience`s attention entirely on Demarczyk`s voice as it careened through poems of love and war and nostalgia and much more.
As the audience strained to catch every word, one could imagine Demarczyk, 25 years earlier, at the start of her career in a cellar cabaret in Krakow. She still lives in the former Polish capital, in the old section of the city in the same apartment where she was born. She studied classical music and acting in Krakow.
But she`s come a long way since her cabaret days. Demarczyk has toured or given concerts internationally every year since establishing her ensemble in 1966. She no longer performs in clubs; as the underground cabaret scene became more political, she moved up and out and gathered a wider following. Concert halls, such as the Chicago, are now her preferred venue. She considers herself politically neutral, although ”War Poems,” by Krzysztof Baczynski, who was killed at age 23 in the Warsaw Uprising, is applauded with a patriotic fervor for free Poland.
It was with that song that Demarczyk closed Sunday`s concert. Members of an American-born audience would have been dashing for the door before the curtain call, but Poles may be better trained, more appreciative, or both:
The Chicago Theatre crowd Sunday brought Demarczyk and her ensemble back repeatedly with a standing ovation and enthusiastic unison applause. She looked dazed and drained, staring at her fans with a seemingly uncomprehending expression.
As Sunday`s concert closed, Demarczyk looked dazed and drained as her fans stood applauding her, European style, in unison. Later, smoking Polish cigarettes and sitting regally in a stuffed high-backed chair, she received well-wishers for nearly an hour in her dressing room. Saturday she performs in Detroit; the following week, in Los Angeles and San Francisco, then Miami and Palm Beach.
”She feels relaxed, finally,” observed Andrzej Suchonski in the crowded, smoky, dressing room.
And she doesn`t mind all the visitors?
”Oh, no,” Suchonski said, ”any contact with the audience is precious.”
