Serj Tankian, singer of System of a Down
Travis Shinn/Hachette Books
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Travis Shinn/Hachette Books
Serj Tankian, singer of System of a Down
Travis Shinn/Hachette Books
The sound of protest music used to be the gentle plucking of Bob Dylan’s guitar or the gentle grooves of Marvin Gaye. But in the late 1990s, a more insistent voice was heard, shouting through a wall of amplifiers.
System of a Down became the most popular metal band of their era, scoring three No. 1 albums in the early 2000s. Concert halls are sold out. The eardrums were hit. Then, at their peak, the Los Angeles-based band stopped releasing music and hasn’t released a new album since 2005.
Singer Serj Tankian describes the band in a new memoir: Down with the system, as:
“Armenian-Americans play a virtually unclassifiable clash of extremely aggressive metal riffs, unconventional tempo-shifting beats, and Armenian folk melodies, with me alternating growling, shouting, and chanting lyrics that could go from avant-garde silliness to rabid sociopolitical diatribes in the space of a single line, I’ll be the first to admit: it’s not easy to listen to.
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Part of the group’s mission was to educate the next generation about something that happened over a century ago: the Armenian Genocide. The Turkish government has never acknowledged that it was a genocide, and no US president has used the term until Joe Biden in 2021.
Morning edition host A Martinez spoke with Serj Tankian about his memoir.
On her family fleeing the Lebanese civil war when she was a child:
I was seven years old; my brother was four years old. And I remember when the bombing started and the school was closed, we were crouching in our room because of the noises, the building was shaking from the bombs falling nearby. And it was just fear. I remember the fear, you know? Fear of the unknown also because as a child you don’t know who is fighting for what reason. You just feel the fear of war, and it’s a horrible feeling.
This definitely made me anti-war from a young age, but as I grew up, it was actually the hypocrisy of the taboo nature of recognizing the Armenian Genocide in a well-known democracy like the United States- United which ultimately made me an activist.
On his family’s connection to the Armenian genocide:
My ancestors, my great-grandparents – died in the genocide. My grandfather, Stepan Eytan, was born in the early 1900s in a small village called Efkere, in the Gesaria region of Turkey, which was once historic Armenia. Turkey once had at least 3 million Armenians, if not more. We were the largest Christian minority in the country. During World War I, in 1915, the government of the then Ottoman Empire committed systematic and organized genocide. And my grandfather is a survivor of this genocide. He told us his story of survival.
My grandfather lived to be 93 or 94 (we’re not exactly sure of his age due to lost documents). We know his story better than our other grandparents, so this was a gift to us. I wanted him to know that before his death, we were fighting for his memory, the memory of his family, of his entire generation, and for what he had fought for during his life.
On losing fans because of his activism:
This suits me because an artist is not supposed to please everyone. An artist is supposed to try to receive through the collective consciousness all the truths by which we try to live, the truths of our times. If we can’t do that as artists, then we are artists. From day one you have to make this choice: are you just an artist or are you going to become an artist? If you’re an artist, that’s cool; there are many artists that I follow and love. But if you want to become an artist, the path will not be easy. You’re going to have to be honest with yourself and with others at all times, and people are going to love you and people are going to hate you, and that’s okay.
I was more of an activist in the group than anyone else. There was always this back and forth between the message and the music. The other guys, rightly so, didn’t want the music to fall victim to the message at any point. I understood that because I loved music too, but when there was (a message) that needed to be put out, I felt like it was just as important, if not more, than the music.
Why System of a Down hasn’t released a new album since 2005:
I guess the short answer to that question is: creative differences. And trying to imbue egalitarian means within the system, not just through our message. A group is a unique dynamic of individuals, with goals and things they want to express. It doesn’t all work together at the same time.
Our original format was: System of a Down guitarist and friend Daron (Malakian) would write the music and I would write the lyrics. As he grew as a lyricist. I tried to encourage him to sing as much as possible, because those were his words. I wanted his voice to come through in his song. I believe that when someone writes a song – and they have a more complete song, both lyrically and musically – they can sum it up better with their voice.
I felt like I wasn’t getting the same thing at the time, in terms of encouragement. I was writing more music now, not just lyrics, and I really wanted that in the band. I was also passive back then, about everything that was happening in my life. I wasn’t as assertive. And I take full responsibility for it, which is not who I am now. I am more assertive now. So it’s an interesting dynamic that caused this blockage so that we could ultimately move forward musically.
On the many fans learning about the Armenian Genocide through System of a Down’s music:
I consider the awareness surrounding the Armenian Genocide to be one of the band’s greatest non-musical legacies. In fact, in 2015, when we were performing the 100th anniversary of the Armenian Genocide in Yerevan, Armenia, at Republic Square, this feeling was palpable, as if we were almost created for this moment. This is the top of the mountain for this group. I’m incredibly proud of that, that we were able to help.
Cover of “Down with the System: A Memoir (Of Sorts)” by Serj Tankian
Travis Shinn/Hachette Books
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Travis Shinn/Hachette Books
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