“Recordings Belong to the People” — An Interview with Sound Archivist Ketevan Davitashvili  

Published July, 2025
by Ben Wheeler

Archives elicit an aura of discovery, secrecy, and age. The potential to unearth forgotten manuscripts, to “dig” through dust-covered boxes and emerge with something unexpected—these are often over-romanticized expectations we have before delving into a collection for the first time. But given the comparatively recent invention of recording technology and its rapid progression through different formats, sound archives in particular present a set of material problems: issues with practical preservation and the fragility of older, audibly aging media. 

Ketevan Davitashvili, a performer and sound artist from Tbilisi, Georgia, works as an archivist at the Tbilisi State Conservatoire and specializes in the digitization of magnetic tapes of unique recordings of Georgian folk songs. Musicologist Ben Wheeler spoke with Ketevan about her experiences working in the archive, the potential politicization of its recordings, and her feelings on open archives, engagement, and access. 

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Ben Wheeler: When did you start at the conservatoire? How did you find yourself working in the archive?

Ketevani Davitashvili:  I was a fourth year Bachelor’s student in Music Technology at the Tbilisi State Conservatoire, and in the middle of a meeting with my supervisor, Reso Kiknadze, an e-mail popped up on his computer. It was from the rector’s assistant Nini Kutelia, announcing that representatives from the Smithsonian Institute would be visiting the conservatoire to give workshops and training. The rector, Nana Sharikadze, explained that this work was quite technical and that there was a lack of trained staff members, so they were reaching out to Rezo to see if there were students from his department who might be interested. 

Rezo encouraged me to take part, and there I was, the next day, with some of my other classmates, visiting the ethnomusicology laboratory. The moment I entered and saw the reel-to-reel machines, the Studer and Mechlabor , I was immediately interested. 

BW:  So the machines were the first thing that caught your eye—what was special about these particular reel-to-reel players? 

KD: These are open-reel machines that can work for both recording and playback (we only have the player heads installed, so that’s their primary function at the moment). The Mechlabor was produced in Budapest, Hungary, and was used throughout the Soviet Union. The Studer, however, was a new machine added to the archive as part of the framework of this project with the Smithsonian. One of the first things I discovered was that we had a lot of recordings that were done with ¼ head tracks, but the Mechlabor head could only read ½ head tracks. Hence, until the introduction of this machine, there was all this material that not only couldn’t be digitized, but you couldn’t even listen to it. The Studer was a customized version with an additional ¼-inch head reader, which opened up all these new opportunities for the archive. 

The moment I saw the reel-to-reel players, I thought of these pictures of Delia Derbyshire at the BBC studio, and I knew I wanted to work with the tapes, with analog sound, with all these archival materials. We had really comprehensive training that lasted for two weeks—I won’t go too deep into what we studied, but just to say it was intense, learning to preserve the materials through different tactics (but I found it really pleasant). By the end of it, only I and another classmate kept going to the training sessions. My mentors from the Smithsonian (who have since become my colleagues) told me, “This laboratory needs young people like you here.”

It wasn’t part of the initial grant, but they convinced the rector’s office to hire me part-time. 

The process of doing this work was really inspirational, engaging with the questions of memory and archives. I had to rethink what an archive was and what I was seeing, this “closed” space full of dust, something that had until then felt far away.  And it brought up a lot of questions as well that I had not been engaging with: the idea of recordings as our cultural heritage, but also the fact that so many people do not have access to them, do not use them, do not study them, that they are not used as a source of inspiration.  

BW: What surprised you most about the archives during that initial phase? What was the condition of the archives, and what were the instructions that were given to you? 

KD:  The first day was full of excitement—it was a dream to actually touch and take care of all of these materials from the 20th century. But already by the second day, that was replaced by this sense of urgency, seeing the degree to which these recordings were deteriorating, the tapes warping. They were not taken care of. There was no climate control. Some of the tapes were glued with nail polish and were covered in dust. So many of the recordings were lacking, not only metadata but also any kind of description whatsoever. By this I mean there were not only descriptions of the physical and chemical aspects of the reel that were missing, but the actual context for the recordings, where and when they were made, and of who. 

I felt like all these materials were silenced, surrounded by silence, dust, and decay. And that was really surprising because I had already started to fall in love with these materials that I could touch and feel, but I was also realizing how much care these tapes and tape machines really needed. 

BW:  How did you begin this restoration process, and what did you experience? What does your job entail at this point?  

My job on the first day was, and continues to be, about digitization—not about cataloging or access (although I have my opinions on this). I started by preserving the magnetic tapes as much as I could, digitizing them, and writing the metadata. This included technical maintenance, because when you’re working with magnetic tapes, you need to de-magnetize the machines and calibrate them. It also meant re-stapling and re-gluing the housings for the reels, or putting materials on new reels that meet archival standards (for example, some of the old reels do not match newer hubs). Basically, this is still my main job, and it’s great.

When I started working and really listening to the recordings, it was mesmerizing. I was so impressed by the materials: hundreds of voices, hundreds of dialects, different rhythms, and even the different ways people were speaking. For example, there was an interview with a 100-year-old woman that was recorded in 1957, meaning she was born in 1857. And she was actually discussing women’s labor. So it was just really touching and really inspiring. 

BW: In what ways do you feel the archive is or isn’t politically charged? Is there anything conspicuously lacking? What is most represented and why? 

Not every archive is explicitly biased, but every archive has its politics. Listening through these materials, it was clear that ethnic minorities were essentially not represented. Even though our national ethnomusicologists (whom I respect so much) were going all around Georgia recording people, they were the ones who were deciding who to record, the voices that should be kept and saved. What’s often lacking is marginalized voices, especially those of minority ethnic groups. The recordings dominantly represent rural Georgian polyphony. As much as I cherish everything we have, I have my own critiques as well. 

BW: What does the current political climate in Georgia mean for the archive? How is this material seen by members of the political establishment? Is the archive at risk of becoming more politicized than in previous generations? 

KD: There are many layers to this question. Let’s start with the Tbilisi State Conservatoire. I really respect my colleagues and their dedication to the archive, but we don’t always agree on everything. It’s important to acknowledge that we come from different periods. In this case, I would say the biggest disagreement is about access to the archive, which is something many of them are against. I do try to make the case for an open archive, to try to make them understand how important it is for everyday citizens to have access to their archives, but still, they have different opinions. They do not want to make it completely public. They do not want an online platform that will grant public access to the audio recordings. 

I think there are complicated ideas about ownership and a feeling that this material belongs to the Tbilisi State Conservatoire, not to every citizen of Georgia, for example. In this case, they may say that if someone wants to do research, they can contact us, and then we can make materials available to them. So in that way, one could argue the archive is open. The point is that there is a big gradient or scale between open and closed, open access and closed access. For me, I view the archive as more on the closed side. If you are not interested in a specific topic, there is no way to browse, to understand what is actually there or available. Unfortunately, I think that is one issue that probably won’t change in the next few years. 

The second, larger layer is that archives can also be used as a force to promote a singular vision of nationalistic Georgian-ness, by the government or any nationalists. And this is especially dangerous right now because we see that cultural narratives are weaponized on an almost daily basis, by the Ministry of Culture in particular. But this usage doesn’t necessarily translate to any kind of support either. There is the more immediate, material risk of losing the archive due to material that just cannot be digitized right now, but there are simply not enough resources from the government, and they keep cutting the budget. 

BW: What would be the best scenario for the archive? What kind of support does it actually need? There’s the obvious hypocrisy that the Ministry of Culture is supposedly celebrating Georgian “heritage,” but then they make no actual effort to provide for it or maintain it.

KD: If you look at what the Ministry of Culture has been doing in the last few years, it is obvious that they do not care about cultural heritage. They’re just using it as a weapon for political control. 

The dream scenario, the ideal for the archive, is that we have a real budget! I want to mention that the support we received for this program, and the reason I have my job, is because of the Smithsonian Foundation and their backing by the US Embassy. For them, it was probably not a lot of money, but we really needed this budget to preserve the archive. 

But then, it’s important to say, the archive is not only something that only needs to be preserved, but I strongly believe that it is something that needs to be activated, and activation comes from access, from interest, from understanding, from care, and from critical reflection. 

What I’ve learned from being part of this great community at IASA  (International Association of Sound and Audiovisual Archives), from being a part of conferences and meetings, is that what we really need is more people. We need people who are interested and can take part, who can volunteer. But for me, most of all (and I know I’ve mentioned it so many times already) but what we need is open access. 

And this means more than just having online platforms. It also means going back to the places, returning to these communities, finding the descendants of those recorded on these tapes. Let people hear these recordings. These aren’t only the conservatoire’s recordings: they belong to the people. There are also internal inequalities happening here—we (city people) took these sounds from rural communities. Now I enjoy listening to these recordings while I digitize them, but what about those with closer connections to their origins? It’s a very delicate topic, and it’s not like we are the British Museum exhibiting stolen artifacts—we have a very different relationship, but I still feel like it’s our duty and responsibility to give this back to the communities that created this material.

BW: Finally, how does working in the archive influence your work as a sound artist? Does being an archivist shape the music you are making? 

KD: In general, my creative process involves little inspirations that build up bit by bit until there is a kind of explosion. And I’ve been waiting for this to happen, but to be honest, since I started at the archive in 2023, I’ve been simply struggling to make ends meet at the end of each month, which really hinders your creative process! 

I have had moments when tapes were going bad and made some really interesting noises. I’ve recorded and collected materials from the reel-to-reels that I believe are ethical to use. And I know that I’m getting inspired by all of this. Whether it’s lullabies from the mountains of Georgia, or just errors in tape, the hiss and silences, I get inspired. 

I do feel like it’s important, because we see these extractions taking place everywhere, that we really try to communicate with the archives, that we let the archives change us and change our practices. It’s good to not only take from the archive, but also to respond to it.  

Text: Ben Wheeler
Photos: ამერიკის ხმა Voice of America, Dave Walke

This article is brought to you as part of the EM GUIDE project – an initiative dedicated to empowering independent music magazines and strengthening the underground music scene in Europe. Read more about the project at emgui.de.

Funded by the European Union. Views and opinions expressed are, however, those of the author(s) only and do not necessarily reflect those of the European Union (EU) or the European Education and Culture Executive Agency (EACEA). Neither the EU nor EACEA can be held responsible for them.