Censorship
In order to sell such a vision for the future, the party had to put a falsely positive spin on the present and recreate the past. Each of the above areas – class and country unity, ethnic purity and party allegiance – required different forms of manipulation. Unity required the creation of a national culture that cultivated the taste of the proletariat and introduced a palatable version of folk culture to the intelligentsia. Ethnic purity required the real or imagined removal of all foreign and minority inhabitants and culture. Party allegiance demanded that all forms of religion be eradicated and even love of country be secondary. It also meant the termination of any thoughts, actions or songs not dedicated to the party or its ideals. Increasingly, the party became synonymous with the Soviet Union , whose stranglehold on eastern Europe by the 1950s and 1960s was formidable.
The big exception was Hungary , where the long-established, revered and unified state of its folk music was undoubtedly a factor in its survival. Since the sixteenth century, and particularly during and after the Romantic period of the late 1800s, music had been a part of national culture and a symbol of unity (Frigyesi, 1996). The upper class never snubbed its peasant class or the folk music it generated. The folk and art worlds traded elements and the folk influence was, and still is, palpable in avant-garde theater and music. Hungarians also enjoyed a more open cultural policy, particularly after the revolution of 1956 that made Janos Kadar president. There was still censorship, but musicians were not used as mouthpieces for government ideology (Andress, 2002) . In fact, the Communist era was less noticeably propagandistic than previous times, notably the Revolution of 1848 and the early twentieth century fascist movement. Both had dominant political parties that used the arts to push their agendas. However, as they were not the government, they could not employ censorship or utilize the people.
For the other countries, however, the Communists' restrictions and ideological focus was new. The biggest step toward an elevated national culture was the creation of folk ensembles – choirs and orchestras whose repertoires consisted of classicized versions of folk songs, many of them with new lyrics. Their purpose was to familiarize the peasants with high culture and more complex arrangements, while simultaneously introducing the upper classes to folk traditions in a manner they would accept. The most popular examples are the tamburica orchestras of the Soviet Union and Croatia , and the Bulgarian State Women's Choir (Le Mystere des Voix Bulgares).
National folklore festivals followed and were often termed “living museums” for their presentation of sanitized spectacles of the past. Many songs performed in festivals mixed the styles of different regions, picking elements that would please the audience. This meant the structure, not only the context, was lost. In the last several years, the question of authenticity in folk music and festivals has become a central issue. It has many ethnomusicologists arguing as to whether it is better to have only the remnants of something real or an impressive reenactment that skews reality. While some of these festivals were created as nationalist statements, other existing ones, such as the Latvian ligo (summer festival), were banned for being too nationalistic. These ensembles and festivals were filled with contradictions – nostalgic yet condescending toward village life, stylistically westernized yet against the West, nationalistic yet loyal to the party above all.
The new style of music did not succeed with the urban elite, rural proletariat or the musicians and singers forced to perform it. Still, several of the best musicians from villages became professionals in these government-funded groups. It was the first time one could make a living as a musician. Music was no longer a localized peasant pastime, but a national commodity (Rice, 1994) . In many ways, they were the opposite of what musicians had experienced until that time. Village music was regional, spontaneous, informal and based on rituals. The musicians followed the pace of the dancers. Instruments were homemade and groups were constantly changing. The ensembles had a fixed repertoire, formal presentation and songs glorifying Communism or the country. Context and regional styles had no place. Instruments were manufactured and there was a fixed list of musicians and singers. This music was constantly pushed on radio and television and in festivals.
Western string instruments were introduced, and traditional ones such as bagpipes, gudulkas, and kavals were arranged en masse to create the sections of a classical orchestra. Complex harmonies replaced single or double-voice melodies. Their style was “conformist, artificial and sanitized – what Milan Kundera described as ‘fakelore.'” (Broughton, Ellingham and Trillo, 1999) . Countless recommendation lists of such folk music were distributed in the Soviet Union and folklore ensembles were expected to follow them. Those who refused to adhere to these strict standards were fired. Dance choreography also changed, as the closed circles and repetitive steps of traditional folk songs were not exciting enough for an audience. Formations that put dancers' backs to an audience had to be rearranged. Consequently, complex choreography of changing formations and open circles with everyone facing mostly front were designed (Rice, 1994) .
Song lyrics were the most overt example of government meddling. Revolutionary songs become socialist worker's songs. Some only changed words here and there, such as Macedonia to Bulgaria , farm to kolkhoz (the soviet term for collective farm) or religious holidays to secular ones. St. George's Day became Day of the Shepherds at a time when shepherds were disappearing. This is a typical example of references to real folk life replacing that life. Similarly, the intelligentsia often claimed peasant roots, though they had no familiarity with that life. It was an identification with an idealized symbolic past that was only acceptable as metaphor. To really be a peasant was undesirable. In general, governments claimed to be preserving folklore when they were actually destroying it by purifying it, using it to promote nostalgia for a past that never existed.
Other lyric changes were not so subtle. In a Latvian recording from 1951, there are added stanzas that thank the soviet government, the party and the “great leader Stalin” for the good lives they have (which were anything but) (Putelis, 2002) . This is an interesting contrast with some African countries, where music in the 1950s was also considered “an effective medium of social control and political influence” (Rhodes, 1990) . Names and text were rewritten, but it was to criticize the government rather than to defer to it. Lyrics attacked both domestic and foreign leaders (or peoples) and had politicians scared, or at least humiliated. Africans used music to keep those above in check, while Communists universally used it to take control of those below.
However, this control over eastern Europeans only tended to work in public or high-profile situations. Those families that still did sing traditional songs sang the old version in private and ignored the Communist changes. In Latvia , singing folksongs was considered a symbolic rebellion (The collapse of Communism was called the “singing revolution”). Singing in private was popular until the early 1990s, when these clandestine songs were finally available on record, making singing unnecessary (Putelis, 2002) . The folk and Roma movements moved underground in many countries to avoid restrictions, which saved at least some of the music. Out of the eye of the party, or out of the city, some traditional songs and wedding festivities managed to survive, and despite threats of fines and imprisonment (many of which were carried out by the KGB), people celebrated their holidays and played their music their way.
In the public sphere, though, the party was very effective at quelling all dissidents. They controlled every level of the music industry – from labels and distributors to performances and radio play lists. Everything produced for public consumption had to be approved. The Bulgarian government once required a certain percentage of songs performed in a restaurant to be Russian in a show of solidarity. Radio material that was deemed “not Bulgarian enough” was banned from the air (Broughton, Ellingham and Trillo, 1999) . Songs in the Croatian national radio archives had warnings such as, “God is mentioned in this song, so be very careful about using it,” (Pettan, 1998). Roma musicians were forced to water down their untamed sound before recording an album, if they were allowed to record at all. Solos, fast tempos, chromatic key changes and modern instruments were not allowed.
Young adults in the Czech Republic today talk of friends and parents sent to jail for a few years for playing a folk song in a café that angered a party member (personal conversations, 2003). In front of 4,000 fans, a popular soviet musician urged the crowd to rebel against the government, as they were destroying the country. Unsurprisingly, he was immediately fired and taken to the KGB. The government then erased all evidence of his band's existence in radio and television archives (Levin, 1996). To date, there is no trace of them prior to 1982. The “disappearing” of dissident artists was not uncommon.