By Erik Mirzoyan, summer 2025

There are sounds that feel like they have always existed, not in a written form, but just remembered. They don’t come from a particular instrument, but rather come from somewhere older and deeper. Each culture has its own heritage and sounds that grew out of it. The people from that culture carry this memory in their bodies and in their subconsciousness. When they hear these sounds, it immediately stirs something within them. But could music that is so deeply connected to a specific origin also touch the heart of someone from a completely different one?

The Armenian duduk is one of those sounds.

It doesn’t shout about the pain. It carries this weight inside: the resilience of memory. And somehow, even if you’ve never heard it before, it knows how to speak to you.

In this video (if you haven’t watched it yet, now’s the perfect moment ) I’m playing a piece called “Hovern Enkan”, which means “The Winds Have Fallen.” I share a few thoughts there about the history of the duduk, and the feeling behind this particular piece - one that holds both mourning and endurance in its sound and history. The title itself already says so much. It’s about loss, but also about remembrance, resilience, and what it means to carry the past with you. Like most music written for Duduk, it’s not just about personal sadness, but a collective grief, and somehow, a strength that survives it. For me, and for many others, this is more than just a sound - it’s  a connection to something much bigger than ourselves.

As an Armenian, playing the duduk connects me to my ancestors, to a cultural memory that lives through this special sound. But when I play the duduk for others - people with no particular connection to Armenian ancestry or history - they also seem to be moved.

Why? They don’t carry my memories. So what is it that touches them? Could it be that the sound of the duduk reaches something more ancient than nationality? Something more human than national identity?

“Dle Yaman”, for instance - (the piece you’ll hear in the next video I’ve linked) is the first piece I ever played on the duduk. Every time I play it - it remains the most personal, because it symbolizes everything the duduk stands for - longing, survival, love and identity. It’s not just a piece of music, it’s a thread that connects generations, woven within the collective pain of a shared tragedy. This music symbolises the sorrow of a collective trauma - The Armenian genocide, perpetrated by the Ottoman Empire between 1915 and 1923, a genocide that involved mass deportations, forced death marches, and systematic killings. For every Armenian, listening to the Duduk is an act of remembrance of the lives lost during that dark chapter in history.

“They wanted to destroy our entire nation, leaving only one Armenian alive, to be kept in a museum.” Paruyr Sevak, a prominent Armenian poet, poignantly reflects on the intent behind the Genocide. This went too far and led to the brutal murder of 1.5 million Armenians and the total exile of those unfortunate survivors on “death marches” across the deserts of Syria, forcing them into displacement across the Middle East and, eventually, throughout the world.

Armenians were forced to find ways to survive by wandering around the world, yet they remained bound together by this tragedy, helping each other. When I look at my people, I’m amazed at how they managed to protect the collective spirit and ideology, despite the collective trauma; the Armenian people have remained devoted to their culture, faith and principles, concentrating on the positive principles of their identity and deserting any negative emotions towards anyone, even towards modern Turkey.

An unforgettable moment in my life was playing “Dle Yaman” for the legendary Armenian duduk master Jivan Gasparyan who brought this ancient instrument to the global stage. In his playing he carries centuries of feeling and sentiment, and was luckily brought into modern cinema and its soundtracks, thus introducing this special music to the world. To play for him - even briefly - felt like handing my small offering into the hands of someone who had carried the soul of our music across continents and centuries.

Jivan Gasparyan’s master-class in Moscow (2019)

This brings me back to my original question; what did all of these directors, producers, film composers see in the duduk and its music? How could they have recognised that this sound will touch so many hearts? Maybe one doesn’t need to be Armenian to connect to this music. Maybe one doesn't even have to know about Armenian history in order to feel its weight. Maybe one doesn't need to understand the lyrics of “Dle Yaman” to sense the sorrow. Maybe we can all connect to it, because we all carry some form of cultural memory, or have some kind of music that carries with it ancient stories, smells, images, tragedies, joys, and secrets from our past. The kind of music that doesn’t just entertain, but remembers.

Maybe this DNA is what makes this music universal.  It’s something we all know and recognize - even if we can’t name it. It  echoes something deeply human that, across borders and generations, reminds us who we are and where we come from.

My duduk, signed by Jivan Gasparyan. a powerful reminder of  legacy and spirit carried through generations