An Insight into the Romanian Jazz Legacy 

Published February, 2025
by Dragoș Rusu

To some refined music enthusiasts and jazz traditionalists beyond Romania, the notion of Romanian jazz might appear lofty. However, it embodies a unique heritage and a rich musical tradition in its own right.

Jazz in Romania has gained little international status and seldom moments of popularity on the Western music scene. This happened for various reasons, mainly due to the lack of international music distribution. Despite this pragmatic realisation, I’ll try to dive deeper into this lush world. Having been born only a few years before the fall of the Communist regime in Romania from 1989, I approach this topic from a perspective shaped by distance rather than direct experience, inevitably filtering the past through the lens of the present. 

Since music histories usually rely on a combination of indisputable facts, subjective testimonies, (re)interpretations and conflicting versions of events, a seamless narrative of Romanian jazz remains a challenge. It may not even represent the full scope of this article. Nevertheless, it is important to acknowledge that throughout different political regimes in Romania, various musicians established themselves on the jazz scene and made immense contributions, reflecting incredible sparks of originality and leaving behind a rich heritage. 

Put on your headphones or turn the speakers up for an adventurous ride through the intricate world of jazz records from the ‘60s to the present.

Early Years: Restrictions and the Quest for Originality 

In Communist Romania (1947–1989), the state maintained strict control over cultural production, including music. Arts were usually used to reinforce ideology and solidify the state authority and hegemony. The Communist Party enforced rigorous censorship, dictating that music should serve the proletariat; therefore, most music consisted of obligatory propaganda songs praising the country’s supreme leaders and promoting socialist and Communist ideals. Yet, despite these constraints and attempts from the government to regulate all artistic expression, some artists and musicians pushed back against the regime’s control, giving rise to various forms of cultural resilience within the musical sphere and devising innovative ways to convey their opposition.

Jazz has existed in Romania since the 1920s and developed as a music genre during the interwar-period. After the Second World War and the Communist regime’s ascension to power, jazz music was still a rather underground phenomenon while simultaneously an elitist one. Its infrastructure consisted mostly of important restaurants from major Romanian cities, with selected audiences. Musicians often had to navigate censorship, sometimes disguising their music with folk or classical elements to make it more palatable to the authorities. Under the metaphor of “easy music” or “dance music”, numerous records from the 1950s released by the Romanian national label Electrecord hid jazz influences and themes. 

After Stalin died in 1953 and the relative liberalisation of the 1960s under Gheorghe Gheorghiu-Dej and later Nicolae Ceaușescu, jazz began to experience a revival. Some state-controlled radio stations, such as Radio România, started playing jazz recordings, and concerts became more common. 

Post Scriptum – Live at Sibiu Jazz Festival, 1981

As with classical music, the Romanian jazz scene developed during the 1960s period of cultural approach and liberalisation. Nevertheless, jazz in Communist Romania had a complicated and often precarious existence. While it was not outright banned and censored (since the censorship was usually applied to lyrics and words), the authorities frequently viewed it with suspicion due to its Western origins and association with American culture, which conflicted with the regime’s socialist ideals. 

A Small Oasis of Freedom

In a podcast for The Attic, Romanian saxophonist Mihai Iordache remembers certain particularities in the jazz scene from Communist Romania:

“Growing up in Romania was ok in the ‘70s, and then things started going wrong in the ‘80s, or at least this is what I realised. I was already a teenager and started asking myself different questions about freedom, self-expression and restrictions. Also, there was no food. Jazz music was like a small oasis of freedom, of self-expression. It was improvised. Jazz musicians had this aura of bohemians, outsiders of non-conventional people. We didn’t view them as entertainers, we viewed them absolutely as artists, on the same level as poets, actors or dancers. We didn’t perceive them as club entertainers. First, because there were no clubs, most played in restaurants because these were the jobs. And then the singer came who had to play the current hits from Romania or abroad. Their only means of actual expression were a few concerts throughout the year and three jazz festivals. These people lived for these three festivals: in Brașov and Sibiu (cities in Transilvania) and Costinești (a small city on the sea-side).”

Formed in the shadow of the totalitarian regime, jazz still developed a distinctive scene, especially in the later decades, thanks to dedicated musicians, jazz clubs, and festivals. By the 1970s, Ceaușescu had distanced Romania somewhat from Soviet influence, which allowed for greater cultural experimentation and stimulated a period of cultural dynamism. This relative openness coexisted with an increasingly repressive political climate, making the cultural space both constrained and, at times, unexpectedly innovative. 

This decade saw the rise of international jazz festivals, such as the Sibiu Jazz Festival (founded in 1973 and one of the longest-running jazz festivals in Eastern Europe), as well as the Costinești Jazz Festival (a summer festival at the Black Sea, attracting young audiences and underground musicians). 

Ethos – Live at Sibiu Jazz Festival, 1981

Iordache recalls that the music from the international Sibiu Jazz Festival “was interesting: some tried to copy current trends from international jazz, and some tried to make perfectly original Romanian improvised music. Some did a combination of these two. This difference between copying and being (or trying to be) completely original wasn’t reflected in the quality of music. Some copyists became some of the most creative musicians in the scene. There was variety: Dixieland, jazz-rock, hard bop, avant-garde, world music and some things in between. For example, there was a great ensemble called The Bucharest Jazz Quintet, with saxophonist Dan Mândrilă, Marius Popp on piano, Johnny Răducanu on bass, and Eugen Gondi on drums.”

In the 1980s, Nicolae Ceaușescu’s regime became increasingly repressive, leading to greater censorship and limitations on cultural expression. The Securitate (secret police) maintained strict surveillance over intellectuals, censorship became more severe, and economic decline deepened social hardships. Western music, including jazz, was restricted again, and musicians had difficulty obtaining records, instruments, books or sheet music from abroad. However, the underground jazz scene persisted in small venues and informal gatherings, where musicians exchanged ideas and played for dedicated audiences.

Electrecord – Romania’s Nearly Century-Old State Owned Record Label

Electrecord studio, photo by Dragoș Rusu

Despite the restrictions, Romanian jazz musicians managed to record albums, often through the state-run Electrecord label, the only official record company in Romania back then. By the end of the 1960s, Electrecord had already released a string of LPs from its Jazz Series, featuring Romanian and European performers, with styles ranging from bossanova to bebop and free jazz. Made mostly for export, the Jazz Series lasted until 1993 and consisted of 27 volumes. The first eight LPs were released on 10″, but starting with the ninth volume, all albums were released on 12″. 

Trio Johnny Răducanu – Blues Minor. 1967. Electrecord

The association between Romanian music and the Electrecord label has always been inevitable. The two grew up together, developed, and lived in a strange and natural symbiosis, experiencing intense moments that influenced Romanian culture. Romanian music would not have existed without Electrecord, and vice versa. The label’s trajectory was defined by two periods and two different political regimes: the period of glory in Communism and the subsequent decline in Post-Communism Capitalism. 

Electrecord dates back to 1932 when a merchant named Nathan Mischonzniki founded Romania’s first record factory. In its early years, it underwent several name changes: initially “Perfection”, then “Homocord”, followed by “Cristal”, before settling on “Electrecord” in 1938, a name that has endured to this day.

The company pressed its first record in October 1934. Until 1937, lacking its studio, it primarily duplicated foreign records, while Romanian recordings were made abroad at the German company Kristall. Before its nationalisation by the Communist regime in 1948, Electrecord provided services to Romania’s national radio, the Ministry of Propaganda, the Romanian Composers’ Society, local branches of Columbia and Odeon, and private companies looking to produce audio advertisements.

In 1948, the Communist regime nationalised Electrecord, recognising its potential as a propaganda tool. The factory underwent modernisation, and record production increased significantly. By 1966, Electrecord had released its first stereophonic record, while by 1967, it had transitioned entirely to vinyl production. The 1970s were marked by high-quality recordings made in the studio that would later be known as “Tomis”, named after the now-defunct cinema in the same building. In 1975, Electrecord introduced its first cassette tapes. By the 1980s, annual record production had reached 6–7 million copies, including special editions for international markets, with Romanian songs re-recorded in English. The production line was further upgraded in 1983 with advanced equipment from Sweden.

After 1990, Electrecord gradually declined due to rising competition and the widespread adoption of CDs. Like many other brands that faded after the Revolution, Electrecord faced significant challenges after 1989. New record labels emerged, CDs took over, and the company sold its pressing equipment. The fall of the Communist regime opened Romania to Western culture, leading to a freer and more competitive music market. For artists, aspirations inevitably shifted Westward. No longer confined to a single state-run label, musicians had newfound freedom to distribute their work however they wished.

Some years ago I had a discussion with Cornelia Andreescu, a Romanian sound engineer and producer, director of Electrecord from 1998 to 2023 and one of its earliest representatives. “Jazz music was more like a niche, as it is now. It never had large sales. But Electrecord was always profitable, not only because it stored everything that meant culture until 1989, but also through the sales it had.”

“The circulation of folklore records was very large (from six hundred to eight hundred records per year) and in fact, it was the folklore music that was supporting the other music sectors, which had lower sales. It was distributed and sold in all areas of the country, from cities to villages; the vinyl disc reached the last hamlet, through cooperatives. After folklore, pop music sold the best. We had a lot of jazz at Electrecord: Aura Urziceanu, Johnny Răducanu, Richard Oschanitzky, Dan Mândrilă. Jazz music remains a niche; it’s not for the general public but for a more educated audience.”

Can a nearly century-old record label adapt to the demands of today’s audiences? Can one of Romania’s oldest brands remain relevant to a new generation with little interest in the country’s communist past? History suggests it is possible since many long-established international record labels—such as Polydor, Blue Note, Decca Records, Universal Music Group, and Polskie Nagrania—continue to thrive by leveraging their rich musical catalogues. So, in recent years, Electrecord has started reinventing and rebranding itself, reclaiming its status as “Romania’s soundtrack.” Important records from its discography and classic albums are remastered and reissued in deluxe editions, complete with new artwork and additional information, sometimes even featuring previously unreleased tracks from private archives.

Unsung Heroes. From Jazz to Pop, Folk, Free Jazz and Beyond

Aura Urziceanu: scan from George Sbârcea (1984)

In the early years of Communist rule, jazz was largely discouraged, as it was considered a product of capitalist and imperialist culture. Following Soviet influence, the regime promoted “realist socialist” music, focusing on folk, choral, and classical compositions that reflected Communist ideology. 

Key figures like Sergiu Malagamba (Romanian composer, conductor and drummer), János Kőrössy (Hungarian-Romanian pianist) and Johnny Răducanu (Romanian-Roma bassist and composer) helped lay the foundation for a Romanian jazz tradition. Promoted by journalist and jazz drummer and producer Cornel Chiriac, jazz musicians such as Eugen Ciceu or Richard Oschanitzky also emerged and brought their contributions to the genre.

The state saw jazz as “decadent” and subversive. Many musicians had to shift to playing more “acceptable” styles, such as orchestrated dance music or folk-inspired compositions. For example, Romanian composer, conductor and pianist Richard Oschanitzky continued the work of his ethno-jazz predecessor, Janos Kőrössy, who recorded a series of improvisations based on Romanian urban folklore. The song below, Pe deal pe la Cornățel, from the 1970 album Romanian Pop Music, illustrates Oschanitzky’s effort to appropriate a folk song in a jazz manner. 

Fusions between jazz and Romanian folk became increasingly frequent. For example, vocalist Aura Urziceanu’s Parafrază pe teme populare românești, released on her first EP in 1972, also reflects this amalgamation. 

Also known as Aura, the Romanian female pop star was famous in the 1970s and 1980s, gaining recognition abroad and performing in New York City in 1972. She toured extensively under the name Aura Rully or Urziceanu-Rully and has performed with many legends from the international jazz scene, including Bill Evans, Duke Ellington, Ella Fitzgerald, Dizzy Gillespie, Quincy Jones, Paul Desmond, Joe Pass, and Mel Lewis. In 2024, Electrecord reissued Urziceanu’s most famous album, Seară de Jazz cu Aura, initially released in 1974. The album features a vast array of Romanian musicians, including saxophonist Ștefan Berindei, bassist Johnny Răducanu, tenor saxophone Dan Mîndrilă, trombone Nicolae Farcaș, trumpet Nelu Marinescu, and vocals Aura Urziceanu.    

In the ’80s, a new generation of musicians emerged in Bucharest, influenced by the sound of giant labels such as ECM and the music from the ’60s and ’70s. Musicians such as Nicolas Simion and Mircea Tiberian, bassist Cătălin Rotaru and drummers like Billy Bontaș represented the newer manifestations of jazz. In Iași (a city in North East Romania), composer and singer Anca Parghel formed a duo with trombonist Liviu Mărculescu. In Timișoara (a town in western Romania), one could find playing together local musicians such as Toni Kühn, Dan Ionescu, Johnny Bota on bass and Eugen Gondi on drums. 

Considered by Romanian jazz critic Virgil Mihaiu “the most creative transfiguration of the Romanian ethos”, Romanian-Armenian pianist Harry Tavitian merged free jazz and ethno-jazz in a somewhat unorthodox and highly original manner. Together with percussionist Corneliu Stroe, Tavitian formed the duo Creativ. During the ‘80s, they released a few albums abroad on the UK-based record label Leo Records. One such album that stands out is Transylvanian Suite.

In 2024, Romanian director Ioana Grigore revived the story of Leo Records through a documentary called Leo Records: Strictly for Our Friends – an insight into the relationships between music, the USSR, the KGB, the BBC, and Leo, an octogenarian with a passion for jazz.

Post-Communist Jazz in the “Free” Capitalist World 

Although jazz was never mainstream in Communist Romania, it survived through dedicated musicians and enthusiasts. After 1989, the jazz scene expanded, with former underground musicians gaining more opportunities to perform freely, tour internationally, and develop Romania’s jazz identity. Although restrained, jazz still has a cult following today; some festivals, such as Gărâna Jazz Festival or Green Hours Jazz Fest, continue the tradition inherited by their predecessors.

After the fall of Communism, Harry Tavitian continued to collaborate with several musicians, including Ukrainian-Bulgarian saxophonist Anatoly Vapirov and Turkish percussionist and multi-instrumentalist Okay Temiz. Probably one of Tavitian’s most inspiring post-communist projects, the ensemble Orient Express released only one album – Axis Mundi – in 1999.

Okay Temiz & Harry Tavitian – live at Outernational Days (2016)

In an article for The Attic, Romanian historian Claudiu Oancea mentions that jazz improvisation based on folk tunes continued into the 1990s and 2000s. Jazz musicians like Mircea Tiberian or Nicolas Simion released albums with jazz adaptations of traditional music, such as Simion’s collaboration with the Fanfare Shavale.

Elsewhere in the Romanian jazz realm, Romanian saxophonist Mihai Iordache is still an active player in the contemporary jazz scene. He is a founding member and creative force behind the famous Romanian band Sarmalele Reci and started his jazz-funk ensemble Iordache. Since 2009, he has managed Fiver House Records, a record label dedicated to Romanian jazz music. While Nicolas Simion introduced him to jazz improvisation, Iordache was later taught by Romanian-Armenian composer and saxophonist Garbis Dedeian. 

Reflecting on the post-communist jazz scene in Romania, Iordache says in the aforementioned podcast that everything changed after the Revolution since many Romanian musicians went abroad. “The places and venues changed, and most music moved to clubs. That didn’t sit well with everybody because people who started thinking of themselves as artists, and righteously so, felt now relegated to the role of background musicians”. The audiences also changed and it was not that dedicated anymore. “You were playing for people who were listening or not, paying attention or not. Things also changed because jazz was no longer strictly underground; it had become just one of many distractions in a freer world. Many hippies who went to the Sibiu Jazz Festival now had rock concerts. International bands were starting to come for concerts in Romania, and jazz wasn’t anymore an escape for every misfit individual like it was during Communism. It lost its aura as an underground pursuit, as music for the chosen few. It began to be club music and to mould after the economic logic of clubs.” 

This meant that the promoters and club owners started to encourage the invited performers to have two sets, with a longer break, and usually start one hour later than scheduled because people would drink and socialise. “It was all fine for me because I was just at the beginning, and all I wanted was to play music. But for some musicians, this was unacceptable; it was a shock to be told how much they should play and when to start and finish. After one season of playing in clubs, I started to play much louder on the saxophone mainly because I wanted to be heard over the chatting.”

Among other musicians and bands which contributed in unique ways to the development of the contemporary jazz scene are Arcuș Trio (a project which builds bridges between styles on unexpected measures and fitting breaks, with a scent of improvisation), East Village (a contemporary jazz musical workshop initiated by Marta Hristea, Sorin Romanescu and Vlaicu Golcea); Sebastian Spanache Trio; Romanian-American jazz pianist Lucian Ban and his various projects; composer, violist and guitarist George Dumitriu; singer Suzana Lașcu; Amsterdam based jazz instrumentalist Alex Simu; bassist Michael Acker; experimental composers and musicians Diana Miron with Laurențiu Coțac and Sian Brie, and Flatsharks, a band from Cluj-Napoca (a city in northwestern Romania). 

The recognition of early Romanian jazz musicians is not intended to cultivate national pride or construct a rigid national identity. Instead, it acknowledges that while Romania has historically wrestled with cultural self-perception—frequently positioning itself concerning the West—it has also fostered distinctive artistic movements. The trajectory of Romanian music today would have been markedly different without the bold innovations of its jazz pioneers.

Despite the distinct historical, political, and ideological contexts that shaped different generations of musicians, a subtle yet profound continuity exists between the jazz artists of Romania’s communist period and those working today. The fall of Communism in 1989, combined with greater exposure to Western influences and advancements in digital technology, has enabled contemporary musicians to develop their sound in increasingly diverse and individualised ways.

Nevertheless, this evolution remains anchored in a historical legacy of struggle, adaptation, resilience, and the continuous negotiation of artistic boundaries. Romanian jazz’s complex and often contradictory history endures, manifesting itself as a persistent undercurrent in its rhythms and creative ethos.

Text: Dragoș Rusu

Photos (lead – Jazz Lăutari in Slobozia in 1943 by Costică Acsinte; Aura Urziceanu: scan from George Sbârcea (1984), Electrecord studio by Dragoș Rusu