Krista Papista’s new album Euro Divas paints the story of a once-divided land fighting years of gentrification. But this album is not about Berlin. It’s about her home country, Cyprus. Her work re-imagines Levantine culture through a visual aesthetic that draws influence from the Balkans, Middle East and Mediterranean. Theatre permeates her performances. She subverts local customs through elaborate queer narratives, from hitting the stage in various states of undress wearing cow bells around her waist to parodying the Cyprus elite who exploit its liberal tax status in her video for ‘VISA Scum Bitch’.
Euro Divas eulogises what makes Cyprus home. It dives deep into cultural anarchical themes, reshaping folk styles (such as dabke and tsifteteli) into modern sounds, hyperpop and Eurodance. Krista Papista tells us about how critiques of Cypriot inequality, exploitation and homogenous patriarchal systems influenced her new record and her experience of Berlin.
When did you move to Berlin, and what brought you here?
I moved to Berlin in 2018. I had actually been to the city to party before, and I felt there was something chic going on with the experimental music and DIY scenes. I got the sense that it’s a good place to grow as an artist and as a queer woman.
Working and living between several countries must be challenging.
Berlin is my main base, but I travel a lot for work and for pleasure. I grew up in Nicosia, Cyprus, and I find that it’s important for me to spend time there, and in Athens, to chill with my family, research and produce work. I like to share my work there and collaborate with my community.
What has changed for you since the release of your last album, Fucklore?
During the production and tour of Fucklore, I was looking into re-imagining my culture’s folklore through sound, mysticism and ceremonial performance, making polyphonic costumes out of shepherd’s bells for the shows, for instance. I still work with these methodologies, but now I’m way more intentional. I believe that words are very powerful and that they can illustrate your next steps and your next years.
How was ‘VISA Scum Bitch’, and your music in general, received by the Cypriot scene and press?
I only really received feedback from people in my circles. They seemed pleased that we made a music video portraying the gentrification of Limassol [Cyprus] in a silly way. It gave my mum anxiety.
What new topics do you explore on this record, and what has changed in your reflection of your heritage?
Just accepting what’s happening, being passive and letting people get away with it should not be normalised.
I was thinking about Salamina, a city on the east coast of North Cyprus, which they speculate thrived in ancient times. I remember that, growing up in Cyprus, we were never able to visit Salamina, as it had been occupied by the Turks since 1974, and is now Turkish Cypriot. The border is now open, but Cyprus is still divided. I used to look at these images of ancient theatres, baths, architectural ruins and temples when I was living there, and I kept having visions and dreams of an archaic, pink marble city-island, as if that’s where I would end up eventually. Or where my soul lived. I sometimes problem-solve by imagining everything going on in my life happening within this pink marble city. In my recent work, I made this city into a fictional goddess named Salamina, then I injected her into my nervous system so she could guide me.
There are songs like ‘Delulu Russian Bubble’ and ‘VISA Scum Bitch’ that are fragments of stories set in the contemporary tax haven Cyprus. They show how it has become unrecognisable to the locals – that the ones gentrifying the place don’t necessarily mingle with the locals and that these detached, delusional bubbles get created within the island so that the energy and living standards become completely fucked up for the locals.
Some tracks are ceremonial prayers to the Armenian stars over Mount Ararat and to Cyclopean monsters, told through fragmented collages of Euro-trash EDM, tsifteteli [Balkan rhythmic belly dance], drum ‘n’ bass and dabke.
The track ‘Mount Ararat’ almost feels like an alternative homage to your home.
Yes, it makes sense what you’re saying. Mount Ararat symbolises two things: the Biblical story of Noah’s Ark coming to rest there with the animals, and today, its proximity to oil extraction and geopolitics – a mountain of borders standing between Turkey, Armenia and Iran. Cyprus, meanwhile, stands between Asia, Africa and Europe.
How do you think your music reflects what’s happening in Berlin? Do you find it ironic that you’re transplanting your notions of a divided Cyprus into a once-divided city?
You can hear fragments of Sonnenallee in my music. I grew up listening to Levantine music, and I also travelled there a bit, as it’s very close to Cyprus. I got into it again when I was hanging out on Sonnenallee. I would hear the music through the speeding cars. That’s why I started making dabke.
Berlin is often imagined as an open place where you have permission to live freely and experiment, but if you live here long enough, you also feel the darkness and its limitations. Police brutality, gentrification, shrinking spaces, bureaucratic madness: I guess you can sense that in my work. But there are also things I love about the city, like the crazy-loud vibrating bass we get to hear in the venues here.
And yes, Cyprus is still divided. Berlin opened its borders a long time ago. I find the stories from divided Berlin crazy. There must have been so much paranoia. There probably is something there. I’m giving divided-city dharma.
What lessons do you think we can learn from what’s happening in Cyprus?
Having corrupt politicians and a system that serves only a few are things that keep repeating in history. As a community, we need to stick together and support each other as much as possible, fight through our work and speak out. Just accepting what’s happening, being passive and letting people get away with it should not be normalised. And I think this is what fucked Cyprus up.
How does approaching traditional sounds through a queer lens help subvert modern narratives for you?
I find subverting and re-imagining your culture’s folklore and rituals to be healing, as you’re taking ownership of your own biography and spirituality in a new, creative way. A lot of the rituals I grew up doing were closely associated with right-wing nationalism and the Orthodox church. As a queer girl, none of these environments made sense to me. By subverting some of these rituals through my practice, I’m creating a world where I can breathe and grow. You’re basically becoming the director, and not just living in this movie that the assholes made before you.
How would you ideally like to realise this record in a live context?
I would love to develop the production, build a proper set with lights and invite fierce creatives and technicians to experiment with and develop site-specific performances. I’m really into Pasoloni, Parajanov and Antonopoulos’ film sets and costume designs. But I also think a show can be equally as powerful with just you, your raw body and your energy.
Euro Divas is out now.
