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Obituary
Nicolae Neacşu

Nicolae Neacşu: A great musician.

Obituary by Speranţa Rădulescu

In 1983, when I first met him, Nicolae Neacsu's time was running out. He had undergone unsuccessful kidney surgery twice, and he was getting about bent over, his waist tightly girded with cloths. He had escaped by the skin of his teeth, but remained scrawny and feeble. He could no longer play the violin except seated - a position deemed unacceptable by peasants -, in a low tone, but with breathtaking fantasy. His wedding employs were growing rarer all the time. Lonesome, obscure old age spent in poverty lay ahead.

In 1988, I included him in the five-musicians band that traveled to Geneva and Paris. During the tour, "nea Culai" suddenly cheered up and became very active. Getting out of the Montmartre subway station, he crossed himself with wide gestures and exclaimed, "Oh, mother of mine, can you believe where I am right now, while my dear Floarea lies under ground!" At the concert, he was irresistible: he was going around the stage, his eyes fixed on the audience, adjusting his hat while unfolding the fanciful thread of his long-forgotten epics.

His wife died. Later, he fell from his bike and broke a leg. It looked like bad luck was pursuing him. December 1989 found him in bed, the ailing shank propped up between cushions. He spent day after day in front of the television, hatching an ode to the revolution that was going to travel around the world. (In February 1990, Ode to the Revolution was already broadcast on Radio France Culture by Caroline Bourgine). But his song did not appeal too much to his neighbors in the village of Clejani. 


(2) Neacsu's cross

Later on, Neacsu livened up again. When, at the beginning of 1990, the impresario Stephane Karo came to the village, he was limping, though he was still brisk as quicksilver. Stephane had an intuition of his genius and co-opted him at once in the band he was setting up in hope of prospective Western tours: the future "taraf de Haidouk". Soon, "nea Culai" became his most reliable aide. He was very self-confident now: "I'm the best fiddler in the world!" he used to tell those who would - or would not - listen to him. In his own way, he indeed was.

In time, Nicolae Neacsu and his friends turned into one of the most successful pop music bands in Europe. "Today in Stockholm, tomorrow in Tokyo, the day after tomorrow in Los Angeles… Concerts are concerts, but it's the traffic that is killing us," used to say his friend and colleague Dumitru Baicu, a.k.a. Cacurica, a great cymbalom player and vocalist. They worked like slaves and raced like horses, but satisfactions were commensurate. How Neacsu gave autographs eludes me, considering that, to my knowledge, he was illiterate: sly as he was, he must have come up with some trick… Stephane made efforts to heal his lame foot, in which a famous French orthopedist and fan of the artist had implanted a long silver rod, not long before. Neacsu walked with a cane, which lent him a certain distinction. His hat was always slouched over his eyes: it was a characteristic feature of the picturesque portrait he had carefully styled for himself. "And now, Nicolae Neacsu of Clejani, the greatest fiddler in the world, will play for you!" he used to say before starting his act on stage. He was alive despite all medical prognoses, because he had something worth living for. He was leading a fabulous, wild life his parents and forefathers, all of them poor, hopeless Gypsy musicians, would never have even dared to dream of.


(3) Church

In 2000, when we met again, on the occasion of one of the few Haiduk concerts in Romania, Neacsu took me aside to confess he was going to get married. He had children and a lot of grandchildren, but he felt lonely at home and in life. Towards the end of 2001, I paid him a visit. I didn't find him at home; he was in hospital. I sent him a bottle of tzuica; I hope he drank it with the Japanese, Belgian and French journalists who were queuing up at the door for interviews.

Eventually, the ailments multiplied and worsened. At the beginning of 2002, when the "Haiduk" gave a concert at the Palace Great Hall in Bucharest, Neacsu, now aged 78, made serious efforts to move and play, but he was still fighting. The impresario Karo could not bring himself to stopping him from going on stage.


(4) Flowers

He was bedridden in Belgian hospitals for a while. They brought him to Clejani just a few days before he passed away. "Hey, man, why did you leave us?" cried Cacurica at the funeral, kissing his hand. He had left because of his wanderlust. His funeral was sumptuous. People from the village and its surroundings came around, and the musicians played and sang at his house and by his grave. The former mayor, Marinica Parvan, a Romanian who had loved and appreciated Neacsu when nobody would pay any attention to him, attended too, and his eulogy at the church was interspersed with the sobs of the listeners, the priest, and his own. He was seen to his grave by fans, journalists and foreign filmmakers. Wreaths, brass bands, musicians, hired wailers, mourning relatives, Gypsy kids and throngs of bystanders. Neacsu would have liked his funeral, there's no doubt about that. The camerawoman sent by the Museum of the Romanian Peasant painfully pushed her way through the crowd. The "gentle" Stephane Karo was brutal in trying to prevent her from taking pictures and filming: he may have reckoned that, since he had paid for all the funeral arrangements, it was his business exclusively. (It may be so, in the Western logic that to Romanians is double Dutch).

Who was Nicolae Neacsu? A great musician coming from the world of those who created and then spread the ballads, love songs and dances about the Romanian and Gypsy villages and later around the world. A stunted, yet strong man, cunning and sincere, unlearned but amazingly clever. A brilliant improviser, an impressive vocalist. A great musician. May God rest his soul, next to his Floarea, who departed before seeing fortune smile upon him.


(5) Procession


End

Special thanks to Speranta Radulescu and Costin Miolsil for the photographs.
Photos (c) Costin Moisil and Romanian peasant museum

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