Houses of musicians

A cultural project of OPUS Association

Musicians from Bucharest

Composers, interprets, critics, professors


Read the interviews with (or about) the musicians from Bucharest

About „Case de muzicieni” (Houses of musicians)

Happy are those who only had one home all their lives, just as happy are those who found their one home in the soul of their partner! For most of us, Destiny would have it otherwise, and moving from one house to another, carrying them all in our hearts, a small city soon grows in us… Men and houses spend some time together. As has been said, we don’t really know if indeed we inhabit our homes, or if it’s our homes that live in us. Houses now and then survive, even torn down, even dead, just as someone dear endures in those who were close to them. But it’s usually the houses which stand and it’s us who die, it’s the houses which carry the memory of life and it’s the people who pass them by and away. (Ioana Pârvulescu)

What you will discover on this site is such a city. These houses, some bigger, some smaller, some with stories going back decades or still told, carried inside them, for shorter or longer periods of time, a musical soul. Their open windows let flow all manner of sounds – in different styles, from different eras, by different voices and timbres. More than once, they were the place where the intellectual elite gathered, just as their pocked-sized dimensions more than once only allowed the comfort of just the family, excluding the possibility of any guest. They saw the fingers of the children who would grow up to be the greatest names tentatively pressing the piano keys for the first time, and they saw the flickering candle lighting their way out of this world. Now filled with the harmonies of yesteryear and laying in some melancholy, years-old drowse, now startled out of their peaceful slumber by the novel harmonies their masters invented – how much would these houses have to tell on what they went through together with the musicians they sheltered within their walls? Could they talk, how many unsaid thoughts would they put into words, how much unrest would recall, how much beauty would they let us be part of? Each of them was chosen, each of them was a house of creation. They were the first to learn the new pieces of the performers who stepped in, they witnessed what was truly the first performance of their inhabitant’s new scores, fruit of their musical soul. And until they will, each of them, be honoured with the plaque which will rightly remind passers-by of their moment of glory, we hope they will find here, on, our readers’ noble recognition.

Monica Isăcescu Lup