Antonis Antoniou, Cypriot musician, activist, and sound artist, has too many ideas. “I don’t have time to record them all,” he admits from his home in Nicosia, the divided capital of Cyprus. “Sometimes I wish I didn’t tour at all, I’d finally have time to work on them,” he laughs. Indeed, Antoniou is a restless soul: he has started three different bands and recorded multiple solo albums, but clearly, it isn’t enough for him. “I’m just addicted to music, to creating and discovering new sounds,” he says.
Growing up in Cyprus, Antoniou was surrounded by Greek Cypriot music. “We had no choice: it was the music our parents listened to; it was the music played on the radio,” he says. As a child, he learned to play the mandolin and the classical guitar, then moved on to jazz, but always wanted to play rock. (“I did rebel as a teenager,” he recalls with a smirk, “everyone does.”) Only after moving abroad to study he turned again to traditional music. At first, on Crete where during a day-long jam session to rebetiko and laïko classics, Antoniou rediscovered his love for the two genres.
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He was so moved by the experience that he immediately went and bought a tzouras: a small bouzouki, an instrument indispensable in rebetiko, but in this particular form, somewhat unusual. In an interview for Songlines Magazine, Antoniou elaborated that he chose tzouras because it’s “not as grandiose as a bouzouki.” This newfound interest was amplified when Antoniou moved to London to study sound arts at Trinity College. In 2005, he formed Trio Tekke with fellow Greek Cypriot guitarist Lefteris Moumtzis and a British double bassist Colin Somervel; they were later joined by an Italian-English drummer Dave de Rose. “We started out very acoustic and played rebetiko classics,” Antoniou recalls.
Their debut album Τα ρεγγέτικα (Ta reggetika), as its name suggests, adds reggae pulsation to the mix. With each subsequent record, however, their sound became more and more electric and psychedelic, culminating on Strovilos, their fourth and, as it turned out, final release. Antoniou cites de Rose’s arrival as one of the reasons for broadening the band’s scope. “We all had some background in rock music, so we decided to follow that path together. I think it worked out quite well.”
At the same time, Antoniou started composing his own songs. “I don’t really know why I started writing them; it just happened,” he says. “We thought that it would be a good start for experiments.” When Antoniou moved back to Cyprus in 2011, the band was put on hold, becoming a studio project. The pandemic prevented them from touring behind Strovilos, and they decided to call it a day. “I still believe Strovilos is our strongest release, I really regret we didn’t have the chance to play these songs live,” he says.
Back on his native island, Antoniou was ready to explore Cypriot folk music. “Living in Greece and the UK made me realize that I know a lot about other cultures, other music, but don’t know enough about my own,” he says. From this desire and regret, Monsieur Douomani was born. Antoniou wanted to take on Cypriot music in an unorthodox way and decided to forgo the usual violin, lauto (a lute-like instrument), and flute. Instead, it features trombonist Demetris Yiasemides and the guitarist Andys Skordis.
Searching for the sources wasn’t easy. Contrary to rebetiko and other styles from Greece, folk and popular music from Cyprus was hardly recorded before the 1950s. Cypriot music, however close to Greek, is quite different. Just like the Greek Cypriot dialect. “Cyprus was conquered many times—the Ottomans ruled the island for over 400 years, and there were also Venetians, French, and British. Everyone left some mark on Cypriot music. It makes it a bit more distinctive than Greek music, but, at the same time, there are many songs that are exactly the same, just with different lyrics,” Antoniou explains. In Monsieur Doumani, Antoniou sings in the local dialect, almost unintelligible to Greeks from the mainland. “We use standard Greek only in very formal situations. No one speaks it in everyday life,” he says, and adds that he had some difficulties in expressing himself even in his own lyrics written in standard Greek in Trio Tekke.
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Monsieur Doumani’s sound evolved in parallel with Trio Tekke’s. Their latest album, Pissourin (translated as “‘total darkness” in Cypriot dialect), is a deep dive into the nocturnal, psychedelic soundscape of the island, filled with reverb, analog electronics, loops, and dance grooves evoking Middle Eastern music.
The pandemic and subsequent lockdowns gave Antoniou an opening to work on different, half-fledged ideas he gathered over the years that didn’t fit either of his bands. He also used his experience as a sound artist while working on his debut solo album Kkismetin. The barrels featured on its cover art are elements of the Green Line, an island-wide demilitarized zone dividing Cyprus into Greek South and Turkish North. The barrels and barricades running across the streets became one of the symbols of Nicosia and a wound that can’t heal. Antoniou used them as drums, the rhythmic foundation of his album, a rallying cry against the divide. The album title is another, “kkismetin” being a common word in both Greek and Turkish Cypriot dialects meaning destiny or fate.
“I’m fiercely against the divide, I dream of a unified, federal Cyprus, but I know music can’t change the world. It can pass the message far and wide,” says Antoniou, whose father had to leave his home in Northern Cyprus in the aftermath of the civil war and Turkish invasion of the island in 1974. To this end, he considered writing the songs in English, but ultimately abandoned the idea because, he says, “It would be fake.” Almost all reviews of Kkismetin mention the political divide and Antoniou’s opposition to it. “People got the message that we want to change the situation,” he says and immediately adds that music for him is not only a political but also a personal matter. “I use it also as a way of healing. Composing songs is a way of asking questions and realizing, putting myself into that process so that I understand a bit more what’s happening,” Antoniou explains.
Being an alternative, independent musician in Cyprus was never easy. “Fifteen years ago, if you wanted to build a career, you had to move to Athens or London. In Cyprus there were no labels, not so many studios where you could record professionally.” It’s changing, though: musicians are coming back, the younger generation is building the local folk scene, developing festivals, and bringing bands from abroad. Antoniou doesn’t consider himself a pioneer—at least not in conversation—but given Monsieur Doumani’s renowned reputation in the Cypriot scene, his impact remains irrefutable. “We did achieve it, because we toured a lot. That’s the reason for forming a band: playing shows,” he says. Surprisingly, Monsieur Doumani plays more abroad than on Cyprus. “There’s not many venues, I’d say one in each of the bigger towns like Nicosia, Larnaca or Limassol. Bands need somewhere to play. This, fortunately, is also changing. We can see that a scene is being born,” he says.
Antoniou’s latest endeavor is Buzz’ Ayaz, a four-piece who combine traditional Cypriot forms with strong influences from the Eastern Mediterranean and Anatolia; the musical embodiment of an undivided Nicosia. “I had this idea for quite a while to have a band with musicians from the other side of the city,” says Antoniou. In 2003, shortly before entering the European Union, the Turkish Cypriot authorities opened up a few border crossings in Nicosia. “Suddenly, we could cross the checkpoints and meet people from the other side. The people that our government presented to us as monsters, but they were the same as us. Their music is almost the same, even the lyrics are sometimes the same, but in Turkish. We have much in common,” he says.
Over the years, Antoniou made friends with like-minded Turkish Cypriots. One of them, Ulaş Oğüç, became a drummer in Buzz’ Ayaz. Turkish influence is strong in Buzz’ Ayaz’s music, mostly of the Anatolian psychedelic rock scene from the ’70s, but also newer bands like Altın Gün. Other important influences for Buzz’ Ayaz’s sound include King Gizzard and the Wizard Lizard and Morphine. “I wanted to have a bass saxophone in the band but couldn’t find the right musician. Fortunately, Will Scott plays bass clarinet in a very aggressive way that fits the band. He now uses two different amps to create this almost metal sound,” says Antoniou. To complete the lineup, Manos Stratis plays organs and bass synths with almost Wolfmother-like heaviness. Buzz’ Ayaz, just like other Antoniou’s bands, builds on the past to create contemporary, exciting music.
“It’s all in me. I’m trying to discover music every day and listening to all sorts of stuff, like African music, Arab music. I think it’s started coming to my compositions as well,” he says. His writing is always evolving and ever-changing; his sound stands at the crossroads between cultures and regions. In other words, he’s like Cyprus.
