Tantsupidu - The Dance Party of Estonia

Our trip to Estonia is focused on attending the quinquennial Laulupidu, the Estonian National Song Festival. It would be a gross understatement to say that I have been keen on Estonian history and their singing traditions. Since I came across this incredible event in 2015, it has been number one on my bucket list. Although I had heard of the accompanying dance festival, I did not pay much attention to it until the last minute. Much of my interest in Laulupidu has been its role in Estonia's modern political history and the stirring role of song traditions in the Singing Revolution. In contrast, Tantsupidu, the Estonian Dance Festival, seems to fly under the radar and was seldom mentioned in the press. In the case of rare mentions, it was only a brief mention of a sentence or two. I may not have even paid much attention if the same foundation had not organized it. And I would have missed out on one of the best experiences in our travel.

When the tickets for both the Song and Dance Festivals went on sale earlier this year in January, I immediately jumped on the tickets for the opening concert and main concert. Little did I know that the most coveted tickets were to one of the dance performances. By the time I booked them in March, they were completely solid. I could only blame myself for not snatching the few remaining seats available a few months back. Thankfully, I joined Laulupidu’s Facebook page and noticed the announcement that additional tickets will be released on May 20th at noon Estonian local time, which happens to be in the very early morning back in New Jersey. I dutifully set my alarm and got up in the middle of the night to hopefully score two of these tickets. To my delight, I got two front-row seats near the center for the opening performance. I was so ecstatic that I could hardly contain my excitement for the rest of that day. Sure enough, all the remaining were sold out within a couple of hours.

The Origins of Tantsupidu

It is generally recognized that the origin of Tantsupidu dates back to 1934 as part of the National Games of Gymnastics and Sports, the national athletic event loosely modeled after the nascent Olympics movement. Initiated as a national gymnastic event, the first 'festival' included 1,500 performers. The folk dances were not recognized as a significant national culture at the time, as they were considered simply part of a traditional way of life. Ironically, it was not elevated into a position of national importance until after the Soviet occupation.

The second dance festival occurred in 1939, just a year before Estonia's annexation by Soviet Russia. The next celebration did not occur until eight years later, in 1947. Branded as "An Evening of National Art.” the celebration is an important component of Moscow's policy of national delimitation. Each individual Soviet Socialist republic retains its ethnic identity and traditions to promote better the global reach of Communism beyond the Russian-speaking realm. By then, more than seven decades of Laulupidu tradition had been in place. The organizer and the Soviet authority noticed that Estonians had been gathering in the evenings of Laulupidu to listen to folk music performances and to dance in mass. Since then, Tantsupidu has been held concurrently with Laulupidu to create a major national four-day festival that persists to this day.

Of course, dancing under the blessing of the Soviet Union altered the nature of Estonian dancing traditions. The elaborate traditional dance moves were replaced by more muscular and compact choreography suitable for the masses' consumption. The dances also broadly conformed with the artistic vision of Social Realism under the directive of Joseph Stalin. In good Soviet fashion, the narratives of the festival often celebrated the utopian vision of collective farming and worker communes. To cater to the large audience, the choreographer also modernized their dances to incorporate more elaborate drills and movements into the festival. Instead of the circular formational characteristic of traditional dances, patterns such as arrows or flowers became increasingly popular. After restoring Estonian independence, Tantsupidu is finally free of the overtly political overtone but retains much of its artistic flare acquired during the Soviet years.

Tantsupidu For First-Timers

Our tickets to Tantsupidu were for the opening performance of the 20th Tantsupidu. I opted for this performance because of the expected pomp and circumstance associated with the start of the festival. It may seem pricy at €55 per person, but truthfully, it was the most precious and worthwhile ticket I have ever purchased. We left our hotel around a quarter to six to catch a bus to Kalevi Keskstaadion, which has hosted Tantsupidu since its opening in 1955. The stadium is in a nondescript residential neighborhood far from Tallinn's Old Town. As all the public buses came and went, I worried that Google Maps might mislead me, and I waited for a bus that would never appear. After all, there are numerous route changes planned for Laulupidu and Tantsupidu. Luckily, a few ladies in Estonian national costumes showed up and reassured me that I could follow them to the stadium.

The bus ride to Kalevi Keskstaadion was perhaps the most comfortable one I have ever been on (and I am an active commuter in New York City). It was amazing how hot and humid it quickly became. It was so packed that I didn't even get to follow the bus movement against the map on my phone. After roughly fifteen minutes, nearly all the passengers were discharged at an anonymous bus stop. At that point, we followed the crowd and snaked through an apartment complex toward the stadium entrance. Despite the seeming chaos, the crowd's mood was calm and of great anticipation. Once our ticket was scanned, I wished we had come a few hours early to soak in the festive atmosphere around the stadium. Aside from the official souvenir stands, you would see many food and snack vendors at any good country fair.

Of course, what jazzed me was all the Estonians in their traditional attire. Compared to the re-enactors from Turku's Medieval Market that I saw a couple of days prior, none of the cynicism or commercialism bothered me in Finland. What amazed me in Tallinn was the stylistic diversity and the craftsmanship that went into each individual outfit. Each Estonian parish has its own traditional pattern and dress style, which comes alive during seasonal and national festivals like Laulupidu. Although traditional outfits had been worn in all previous dance festivals, the Soviet authority discouraged their wearing during the height of the Stalinist year. Nowadays, dancers at Tantsupidu are subjected to additional scrutiny from the organizing committee to ensure the authenticity of their design and the preservation of traditional costume making. The dress for each dancing troupe must be of the design from one single parish, and arbitrary alterations or substitutions are forbidden. With each outfit costing north of €1,000, the traditional costume is a major financial and cultural commitment.

At 7 pm, streams of male dancers entered the stadium in files. The festival officially commenced with a speech by Jüri Ratas, the Estonian prime minister. Because I was obsessed with Estonian, I looked up his remarks afterward. The speech paid tribute to a poem by 19th-century national poet Lydia Koidula, whose poem inspired the festival theme this year, Minu Arm (My Love). Another speech by officials such as the Cultural Minister and the Song and Dance Festival Organization president followed the remark.

Before the first performance, the official festival torch relay arrived at the stadium. Originating from the lineage of the Estonian Game, the torch relay is an Olympic-style event that began more than a month before the start of the Song and Dance Festival. Like the Olympic events, the relay took play across Estonia, with each country hosting its song and dance celebration as a warm-up to the national festival. The 33-day-long festivity promulgates Laulupidu into a dozen or so county-level mini-festivals. The flame relay embodies Laulupidu's and Tantsupidu's true spirit in many ways. They are not merely performance acts but embody civil society and national cohesion.

Per tradition, the flame was lit in the city of Tartu, the birthplace of the Song Festival, with the relay that began on the island of Saaremaa and passed through all eleven Estonian counties. The festivity officially began with the entry of the torch into the Kalev Stadium. Carried via a vintage car, it entered the field with grace and silent admiration from the crowd. The flame was passed from one dance instructor to another until it reached the torch stand. A round of applause immediately followed, and the audience eagerly awaited the first dance of the festival.

Oma Õnne Sepad (Architect of Their Future)

The performance began with Architect of Their Own Happiness (Oma Õnne Sepad). Previously performed at the festival in 1990 and 1999. Comprising over 1,500 male dancers, the dance has a decisively masculine overtone and an air of deep melancholy. While we did not understand the lyrics, the music has true mystical power. The choreography was simple yet effective in combination with the blocky drills. The music came from the soundtrack of the 1969 Estonian cult movie The Last Relic (Oma Õnne Sepad). Set in medieval Tallinn, the movie was one of the highest-gross films in the Soviet Union. The song's lyrics spoke to one's self-determination and desire for a brighter future.

What surprised me about Tantsupidu was the live music performance. Although I have seen some online videos of past performances, I haven't had any preconceived notions. I had no idea that all the dances were set to live performances. Even more remarkably, the vocal quality of the performer was sheer perfection. When I later looked them up in the program booklet, I was pleasantly surprised that they comprise many of my favorite Estonian artists, chief among them the vocal group Estonian Voices. I could hardly explain what a thrill it was to experience perfect synchronization of live music and mass dancing. The 1,500 dancers ended the dance with a formation of a map of Estonia, including the outlying islands of Muhu, Saaremaa, and Hiiumaa.

The dances are accompanied by live orchestra, choirs, and featured soloists.

In a typical Estonian manner, Tantsupidu proceeded with great efficiency and precision. One aspect we enjoyed the most was the transition between each dance. With dancers constantly emerging from every corner of the stadium, it was almost like a game of Pac-Man. You never know when and how many dancers might appear suddenly in the middle or end of each dance. There was a definite sense of anticipation and suspense throughout the program. We never saw so many happy people in traditional folk costumes performing not for the cheers but for a sense of camaraderie across Estonian society.

Estonian Dances Come In All Forms

The 90-minute performance brought a stunning display of dance and drill formation. So you might ask what is Estonian dance and what made it so unique? I could not say. Estonian daces are not flashy or flamboyant. It does not involve complex acrobatic moves or require great physical agility. Notably, the dance festival drew participants from kids as young as five to grannies in their 90s. To me, the magic of Tantsupidu rests in the event's inclusiveness; any able-body individual will be able to learn the choreography. As an amateur festival, the amateur dance troupes from around the country auditioned and underwent rigorous evaluation by the organizing committee. With over ten thousand dancers participating in this year's Tantsupidu, I was surprised how many more dancers didn't make it to the Kalev Stadium. For a nation of 1.3 million, the participation rate was astonishing.

Dances have always been an important part of the cultural life in Estonia. Like its Finnish cousin, Estonians are among the last people to be Christianized, and today, it is also considered the least religious country in Europe. The pagan tradition of the past is preserved in the form of folk singing and singing. The dance tradition persisted through the centuries despite the medieval inquisition and prohibition from local Christian pastors. Some have believed the traditional link with fertility has something to do with its enduring popularity. Starting in the 19th century, the documentation of traditional dances became all the rage.

Slower dances could actually be more enjoyable,

Fortunately, Estonians do not restrict their dancing to the medieval repertoire. New dances have been constantly introduced into the dance program. One of my favorites is Black Snake (Must Madu), which features dancers in neon-green latex costumes with bright red pants. The music by Estonaina band Traf. Attack! and choreography were so avant-garde that it stood out as one of the most memorable numbers. The bright color and acrobatic moves are reminiscent of the images of the Arirang Mass Games in Pyongyang or the opening ceremony staged for the 2008 Beijing Olympics. While impressive, mass games nowadays usually evoke the memory of authoritarian regimes. I am certain there must be some internal discussions among the program planners.

Another major highlight was the children's dances. The energy and youthfulness of these kids were such a joy to witness. But unlike the kids in North Korea, the young Estonian dancers were not perfect. Although they have not achieved the perfect synchronicity, a sense of trepidation exhibited the true child-like innocence that is truly endearing. In particular, the dance Clap to be Cheerful (Pliks ja Plaks) brought a wide smile to our faces. The solo vocal by Oliver Tõkke stayed true to the youthful energy. But the stadium full of young dancers was the most beautiful moment of the day. Their older fellow dancers' encouragement and applause was the best embodiment of the torch passing from one generation to another.

With the seamless transition between dances, it was difficult to follow the information in the program booklet. However, I was glad that I kept my full attention on the field because so many details went into each performance. With the blink of an eye, so much could be missed every second. The penultimate dance was Soul of the Earth (Maa Hing). Written and performed by 35-year-old folk singer Triinu Taul, the song began with a small group of elite mixed dancers. As the music gradually built on, more dancers streamed into the stadium until the field was filled to the brim. In a typical Estonian manner, this is a love song to Nature and the Estonian soul. The performance was both deeply satisfying and moving. At the end of the dance, we surveyed the field and concluded that the finale must be coming as there were just so many dancers on the field.

the beautiful movement from the penultimate dance, Maa Hing — the beautiful movement from the penultimate dance, *Maa Hing*

Just as important, both Tantsupidu and Laulupidu installed a collective sense of civic cohesion in Estonia. Many scholars in and outside Estonia believe that the tradition of mass singing and dancing installed the culture of discipline. Many credit these cultural traditions to the bloodless Singing Revolution of the late 1980s, ultimately leading to independence restoration in 1991. As Estonians inhabit one of the most restless corners of Europe, this social discipline and national unity enabled Estonia to emerge from the ashes of Soviet occupation and flourish as a global powerhouse. Estonian way of doing politics is summarized as strategic patience. Just like waiting for the conductor’s baton or a direction from the dance instructor, Estonians understand that collective action and speaking in one voice is empowering.

Time For Tuljak!

Since the first Tantsupidu, the dance program has always concluded with the famous Village Dance (Tuljak). Despite all the preceding dances, nothing could prepare us for the sheer scale of Tuljak. Just when we thought they could not fit in any more dancers, additional dancers began descending down the aisle and gestured in unison. Holding the equivalent status as Mu Isamaa On Minu Arm for Laulupidu, this dance is the de facto anthem of Tantsupidu. Anna Raudkats choreographed the beloved dance in the 1920s. She studied folk dance in Helsinki and began her career by collecting and documenting Estonian folk dancing.

The dance Tuljak spoke of is a story of how a young man and woman met at a village party and ended up getting married, with the whole county joining in endless dancing and drinking. Raudkats incorporated various traditional folk dances into Tuljuk. After its encore performance in the first Tantsupidu in 1934, the dance has been the only song performed at every Tantsupidu. Ten thousand five hundred forty dancers performed mass dance all in all. But besides the massive showing, the musical performance was simply sublime. The live vocal performance by Estonian Voices was breathtaking. And this is not exactly an easy song to master, given its fast melody and wordy lyrics. Ironically, the music reminded us of the infamous irreverent song from the soundtrack of South Park: Bigger, Longer & Uncut. Sorry, Estonia. I am not comparing one of your most beloved songs to South Park's... I mean, no offense...

As the male dancers lifted their female counterparts up at the end of Tuljak, thunderous applause broke out among the spectators. Despite the poor weather, the spirit was high, and there was genuine happiness. It was perhaps the most beautiful expression of nationalism I have ever witnessed. It was nationalism with a smile and inclusiveness. For us, Tantsupidu was not just a folk dance performance but a testament to Estonia's cultural resilience. As the most digitally advanced country in the world, Estonia demonstrates how modernity and traditional culture can coexist and complement each other. The old tunes were modernized, yet the traditional costume and spirit persevered. This blend of tradition and modernity is subtle for those of us who are uneducated in Estonian culture. The more I learned about the background of each dance, the more I appreciated this symbiosis in contemporary Estonia.

Just as important, both Tantsupidu and Laulupidu installed a collective sense of civic cohesion in Estonia. Many scholars in and outside Estonia believe that the tradition of mass singing and dancing installed the culture of discipline. Many credit these cultural traditions to the bloodless Singing Revolution of the late 1980s, ultimately leading to independence restoration in 1991. As Estonians inhabit one of the most restless corners of Europe, this social discipline and national unity enabled Estonia to emerge from the ashes of Soviet occupation and to become a Cinderella story in Europe. Estonian way of doing politics is summarized as strategic patience. Just like waiting for the conductor’s baton or a direction from the dance instructor, Estonians understand that collective action and speaking in one voice is empowering.

Tantsupidu is a cultural nationalism at its best.

As the crowd dispersed from the stadium, we were starving. Unbeknown to us, it was very close to 10 pm, and we were definitely in the mood for some decent Estonian cuisine. Of course, we ended up settling with your typical festival food. The spiral-fried potato stick was surprisingly good. I also took this opportunity to purchase a few Laulupidu souvenirs, such as a logo t-shirt. Although we did not have much luck with food, we were grateful to witness this amazing event. To us, it was a true privilege and ranks among the best experiences in our years of international travel. Tantsupidu not only gave us a deep appreciation for Estonian culture but also an overwhelming sense of joy that is indescribable. We could hardly contain our emotions as we walked back to central Tallinn at dusk along with thousands of Estonians. Despite our long day and physical exhaustion, our soul was renewed.

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