Sweetness and sadness soars across Old Riga

  • 2000-02-24
  • By Vineta Lagzdina
RIGA - Through all the seasons, there's a sound you can never escape in the Old Town and it embodies a quality of the unspoken that exists there. It's eerie and haunting tones whistle through the corridors of cobbled streets, at times lyrically and magically but nearly always in loneliness.

It's amazing how far the sound travels, for it originates from the hands of an elderly troubadour sitting on a fruit box playing tunes and songs on his musical saw. And he's out there in his "spot" through the daylight-brief freezing winter, in sickness and in health, into the more amicable spring and tourist filled summer. The nightly TV weather report dictates his destiny for the following day.

"I have been a street musician for about five years," said Edwards Kulikovskis, Latvia's master of the music saw, "since 1994."

As a pensioner life has forced him onto the streets. Edwards, as he prefers to be called, turns 70 this year. "For me it's a shameful thing sitting with a box in front of me for money, but people are kind and responsive." And the 3 - 4 lats a day help him to survive.

When he was a child his mother took him to the circus in Riga and he was absolutely fascinated by the circus clown bowing a saw. He came home and made one for himself, a small one, but it didn't sound right.

Later he met another musical saw musician, who used a German saw and he measured it's length and breadth, made one to size and eventually it sounded good.

"No one taught me to play. I tortured that saw until I could make it sing," said Edwards. It was a hobby and he enjoyed playing at clubs, celebrations and big dances after a day's work at the factory, the Sarkana Zvaigzne.

In the 80s he was asked to join a group playing at VEF, Latvia's leading electronics company which regularly held big dances and needed a saw player for the Neapolitan Waltz. It was there he met other musicians who by the 90s were playing on the streets, and so he came to join them as a street musician.

"When my good friend Jurgis, on the accordion, joins me it's much better. We play Latvian music together. And it helps to have the accordion for tuning," he said. Having had no musical training, except for some choral singing, Edwards claimed, "If I hear a note I can play it," Even today he keeps learning new songs.

Jurgis has also tried his hand at making and playing the saw but as the master smilingly revealed, "It's not so easy to make one that 'sings.' And it's hard work pressing the saw down with the thumb because you have to bend it into an S-shape and my thumb goes out of joint. I have to use my palm."

He's been playing for 50 years but wants to make a new and better saw when he finds the time. Better means more sonorous across a wide range of octaves. The other week Edwards spotted a man with a superb long saw of excellent proportions on the tram and he bought it from the man for 3 lats.

"And I still have the specification drawings and measurements, to make a new one, otherwise I forget. The teeth have to be removed and then it needs fine tuning, " he said.

It has taken much patience, persistence, experimentation and more than a few saws to achieve the desired quality but Ed believes he can still make improvements.

It's been a tough new millennium with weather improvement the only aspect of relief on the horizon. Ed's protected spot is a wind tunnel and his health has been suffering, he walks slowly and carefully because his legs and sides ache but play he must.

By playing on the streets he and his friends get asked to clubs, birthdays, weddings and occasionally they are invited to other Latvian cities.

"We go where we are invited," he said.

Like so many unknown stories that weave their threads around this city, it's a sad tune but play it again, Ed, play on.