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Beginning in the early 2000s, Armenia’s popular music was becoming increasingly diverse and emerging from the confines of a largely centralized media landscape. New radio stations and television channels were multiplying, creating more opportunities for musicians to record, perform and reach audiences. At the same time, the boundaries of what was considered acceptable popular music were being reimagined; estrada remained a dominant presence on television, while rabiz, despite its enormous popularity, was largely kept off the air.

Two institutions played an important role in shaping the sound of the period: the Armenian State Song Theater and the music school founded by Nadezhda Sargsyan. They became important centers for training and producing the polished vocal music that television audiences encountered. “Having virtually unlimited airtime, as well as high-quality equipment and instruments supported by talented professionals, is what made them so significant,” says Davit Stepanyan, an estrada vocal coach and former assistant to the late musician Hayko. 

Television was still a powerful gatekeeper. “At the time, it was not possible to hear rabiz music on TV; it was out of the question,” Davit recalls. Instead, estrada performers occupied much of the available space, with performances such as Hayko and Shushan Petrosyan’s Eraz im Erkir, Hayreni receiving ample airtime.

Estrada kept pace with the era’s changes and, over time, progressed toward pop music. As more channels and radio stations emerged, they needed a steady supply of new material. What had once been produced for a relatively limited number of outlets was now being created for an expanding and increasingly competitive market. “The financial situation was improving, more synthesizers were being brought into the country, and the quality of every aspect of production was improving,” Davit says. Yet the greater volume of music also brought a new pressure; quantity could come at the expense of quality.

From the mid-1990s to the early 2000s, Sharm Holding also became an important presence in Armenia’s entertainment  industry. Films such as Mer Bak (Our Yard) featured musical numbers that became part of the popular culture of the time. I remember watching them as mini music videos woven into the storyline, creating an almost musical atmosphere within the films. The industry grew steadily alongside improving living conditions, and the music industry gained new momentum as musical competitions began to emerge.

“Students at Nadezhda Sargsyan’s school actively participated in competitions, often held in Europe or Russia,” Davit says. They regularly returned with awards, helping create a sense that a career in Armenian pop and estrada music was becoming possible. But producing and releasing music was still expensive. Recording a CD was out of reach for many. “There were only about five to ten professional recording studios operating in Armenia at the time,” Davit says. Those who could afford them tended to be established performers. Some studios recorded artists such as Aram Asatryan and Tata Simonyan, whose established careers and large fanbases made producing and selling CDs financially viable.

The industry shifted again after 2004-2005 with the spread of the internet. Artists could release their music online, solving visibility challenges for many. They no longer needed to press CDs or secure radio or TV airtime; they could do it independently. At the same time, Yerevan’s growing  restaurants, pub and club scene created more places for musicians to perform, and greater demand for live and pop music.

By 2006, Armenian pop music was increasingly drawing on sounds and styles coming from Europe. Armenia’s first appearance at the Eurovision Song Contest that year offered a highly visible sign of that shift. Andre represented the country with Without Your Love, which finished 8th in the final. Over the next few years, estrada and pop music gained even more momentum. “European and American jazz music became more accessible to us because, thanks to the internet, it entered everyone’s home,” Davit says. “Drawing inspiration from this, we began producing music that was more professional, more in tune with the times, and more fashionable. A significant quantitative change took place; the field was wide open, and the number of singers as well as their accompanists increased.”

Artur Avanesov, a classical composer, remembers the early 2000s as a time when previously separate musical worlds were beginning to overlap. “My CD release was being reviewed in the same article, along with Misho’s newly released CD,” he says. The music landscape was no longer limited to estrada, pop, classical and folk music. As access to international music increased, new genres and a new generation of musicians began to find an audience. With the release of Qami Pchi in 2006 by H.A.Y.Q., rap was introduced to the Armenian mainstream. The song and its music video became massive hits, paving the way for hip-hop’s acceptance on national television. H.A.Y.Q served as a commercial starting point for the genre, which continued to evolve and attract a growing fan base.

Emma Makyan grew up with Armenian rap. She listens to rap from the United States, Russia and even Korea, but says Armenian rap remains closest to her heart. Emma recalls discovering the band Hay Txeq when she was about 13. Growing up around boys who listened to them, she came across one of their posters. “I thought they were attractive,” she chuckles. “I guess that’s why I went on and listened to them.” She soon found her two favorite songs, tracks that, nearly a decade later, are still in her playlist.

“Harazat Qucha is a very emotional song for me because it’s so nostalgic;  it brings back a lot of memories,” Emma says. As she explains, qucha, slang for “street,” is about the memories and friendships you had as a child and no longer have. You aren’t together anymore, but you still remember one another. That, she says, is exactly what the song is about. Emma says this message is what made it one of her favorites.

“I would say that all of their songs are like little stories, which is exactly why I like their music,” she says. Her second favorite song is Saqon Qnatsa, which is about a man who is exhausted and needs help. “…and that’s exactly about me, and us in general,” Emma jokes. She reconnected with the song during her senior year of university and urged me to listen to it as well. In the song, Saqo is the sole breadwinner, working himself to exhaustion. The lyrics plead with those around him to let him sleep and leave him alone, because he is simply too tired.

Emma says most of Hay Txeq’s songs tell stories about social situations, and often feel quite philosophical. Another of her favorites, Mi Katil Meghr, recalls a time when taxi drivers wouldn’t give back change when handed a bill, a practice that has largely disappeared with changes in the payment system. For Emma, songs like these are worth listening to without preconceived ideas about rap. She encourages people to look past their assumptions and listen to music on its own terms, since they blend cultural commentary with classical melodies influenced by classical Armenian composers such as Arno Babajanyan.

By the end of my conversations with the musicians and listeners who grew up through these changes, I kept returning to Mer Bak and its crowded, familiar world: different characters, personalities and stories sharing the same space. Music has always been one of the great storytellers of Armenians and their experiences, full of diverse flavors and tunes—just like us.

From Armenia’s overlooked perfume heritage and the invisible border between Eastern and Western Armenian to Vanadzor’s quietly flourishing creative scene and the enduring voice of the duduk, this month’s SALT reveals the many ways that identity is expressed and preserved.