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Grigorian's chant: Canadian artists rule
by Joe Fiorito, Toronto Star
The Toronto Star, Ontario
June 29, 2005 Wednesday
Harmik Grigorian was sitting in the back of his music store in
Yorkville a few days ago. He had just celebrated the 25th anniversary
of L'Atelier Grigorian, and he was in a reflective mood.
If history had taken a different turn, he would have been born in
Armenia; instead, his parents fled the genocide and he was born
in Tehran.
If history had taken yet another turn, he'd still be there.
He said, "As soon as I finished high school, I joined a big Dutch oil
company. I ended up on the board of directors. We were designing all
the big oil projects in Tehran. It was very exciting. Iran had all
the latest technology during the time of the shah.
"For me, the country was on its way to becoming a second Japan. You
could buy any kind of car, there were great hotels, there were people
from all over the world - Americans, French, Italians - and there
was no unemployment."
And then he shrugged, the way only an Armenian can shrug. "But the
shah was not using the resources of the country properly; only certain
people were well off." You know what happened next.
Did he sense the revolution? "I was not frightened. But my wife was
not very happy. She thought we should leave. I sent her and our two
daughters to England and I tried to sell our house." That shrug,
again. "I couldn't sell. I lost a lot, like everyone.
"My neighbour at the time was the second-highest official at the
Canadian Embassy. It was his house where the American hostages would
later stay.
"He and I used to have drinks and listen to Tony Bennett on the
stereo. He asked where my family was. I told him. He said we should
come to Canada."
Not long afterwards, Harmik and his family arrived in North York, and
they soon found a house in Oakville. "We didn't know anything at the
time; but you know, it's no problem, we were new, it was very nice,
very beautiful.
"I tried to find a job in my field but either I was overqualified
or I had no Canadian experience." He smiled, and he may have been
frustrated, but those of us who love classical music are very lucky
that he did not find a job crunching numbers.
He said, "I have always loved music. I had been to some of the big
music stores in Toronto. I sensed things were missing. I said to my
wife, 'Why don't we open a store and try to be the best?' She said,
'Let's do it.' The next day I rented a place in Oakville. I am very
fast in deciding things. We started selling music, art, books on
photography and architecture."
His first day in business? "I had bought big ads in the Oakville
Beaver and the Oakville Journal. We wondered, 'Can we handle the
crowd?' I opened at 10 a.m. Nobody came. We waited, waited; nobody.
"My neighbour finally came at 5: 30 and bought a cassette; I think
it was Gershwin, Rhapsody in Blue. If he didn't come, it would have
been zero in the cash that first day."
I don't know which is better, luck or nerve, but I do know it's
hard to beat the combination. Around that time, there was a book of
photos of the Sistine Chapel, a costly limited edition produced over
a one-year period prior to the restoration of the frescoes; there
were 100 copies reserved for Japan - the restoration was funded by
a Japanese TV network - and there were 300 copies available for the
rest of the world.
The book cost $5,400. Eaton's had a copy and couldn't sell it, nor
could Edwards, nor could David Mirvish.
Harmik can be irresistible. He persuaded the agent to let him have a
copy for the weekend. He sold one, and then he sold two more, then
another and another; 13 in all. He was on his way.
And when his landlord jacked up his rent in 1986, he opened a new store
in Yorkville, and then he opened again almost immediately in Oakville.
He chief strength has always been in the importing of classical
music from Europe, precious stuff which no other store had wanted to
bother with.
Before long, L'Atelier Grigorian was known worldwide.
One day he got a letter from a Glenn Gould society in the Netherlands,
asking him to provide what recordings he could. It occurred to him
there was no Glenn Gould society here.
And so Harmik and his right-hand man, Bob Trenholm, had a few discreet
conversations with some influential music people; not long afterwards,
there was a Glenn Gould Society here.
He said, "I try to push Canadian artists in my store. I think Canadians
should have nationalism, good nationalism; we should be proud of who
we are. For me, as an Armenian, we would have nothing without our
nationalism. But as Canadians, we don't want to push."
He seemed perplexed. I said we used to push but we've stopped; it is
as if we've conceded culture to the Americans.
Harmik leaned forward and stared fiercely and said, "The past 25 years
have been great, hard-working years, doing good for a country that
has accepted me as a citizen." He paused to gather more fierceness.
"Now I want to tell you from my heart - Canadians should be proud. We
have great artists: Bayrakdarian, Kuerti ... Glenn Gould. We are not
less than the world." He's right.
Here's to 25 more years of fierceness.
by Joe Fiorito, Toronto Star
The Toronto Star, Ontario
June 29, 2005 Wednesday
Harmik Grigorian was sitting in the back of his music store in
Yorkville a few days ago. He had just celebrated the 25th anniversary
of L'Atelier Grigorian, and he was in a reflective mood.
If history had taken a different turn, he would have been born in
Armenia; instead, his parents fled the genocide and he was born
in Tehran.
If history had taken yet another turn, he'd still be there.
He said, "As soon as I finished high school, I joined a big Dutch oil
company. I ended up on the board of directors. We were designing all
the big oil projects in Tehran. It was very exciting. Iran had all
the latest technology during the time of the shah.
"For me, the country was on its way to becoming a second Japan. You
could buy any kind of car, there were great hotels, there were people
from all over the world - Americans, French, Italians - and there
was no unemployment."
And then he shrugged, the way only an Armenian can shrug. "But the
shah was not using the resources of the country properly; only certain
people were well off." You know what happened next.
Did he sense the revolution? "I was not frightened. But my wife was
not very happy. She thought we should leave. I sent her and our two
daughters to England and I tried to sell our house." That shrug,
again. "I couldn't sell. I lost a lot, like everyone.
"My neighbour at the time was the second-highest official at the
Canadian Embassy. It was his house where the American hostages would
later stay.
"He and I used to have drinks and listen to Tony Bennett on the
stereo. He asked where my family was. I told him. He said we should
come to Canada."
Not long afterwards, Harmik and his family arrived in North York, and
they soon found a house in Oakville. "We didn't know anything at the
time; but you know, it's no problem, we were new, it was very nice,
very beautiful.
"I tried to find a job in my field but either I was overqualified
or I had no Canadian experience." He smiled, and he may have been
frustrated, but those of us who love classical music are very lucky
that he did not find a job crunching numbers.
He said, "I have always loved music. I had been to some of the big
music stores in Toronto. I sensed things were missing. I said to my
wife, 'Why don't we open a store and try to be the best?' She said,
'Let's do it.' The next day I rented a place in Oakville. I am very
fast in deciding things. We started selling music, art, books on
photography and architecture."
His first day in business? "I had bought big ads in the Oakville
Beaver and the Oakville Journal. We wondered, 'Can we handle the
crowd?' I opened at 10 a.m. Nobody came. We waited, waited; nobody.
"My neighbour finally came at 5: 30 and bought a cassette; I think
it was Gershwin, Rhapsody in Blue. If he didn't come, it would have
been zero in the cash that first day."
I don't know which is better, luck or nerve, but I do know it's
hard to beat the combination. Around that time, there was a book of
photos of the Sistine Chapel, a costly limited edition produced over
a one-year period prior to the restoration of the frescoes; there
were 100 copies reserved for Japan - the restoration was funded by
a Japanese TV network - and there were 300 copies available for the
rest of the world.
The book cost $5,400. Eaton's had a copy and couldn't sell it, nor
could Edwards, nor could David Mirvish.
Harmik can be irresistible. He persuaded the agent to let him have a
copy for the weekend. He sold one, and then he sold two more, then
another and another; 13 in all. He was on his way.
And when his landlord jacked up his rent in 1986, he opened a new store
in Yorkville, and then he opened again almost immediately in Oakville.
He chief strength has always been in the importing of classical
music from Europe, precious stuff which no other store had wanted to
bother with.
Before long, L'Atelier Grigorian was known worldwide.
One day he got a letter from a Glenn Gould society in the Netherlands,
asking him to provide what recordings he could. It occurred to him
there was no Glenn Gould society here.
And so Harmik and his right-hand man, Bob Trenholm, had a few discreet
conversations with some influential music people; not long afterwards,
there was a Glenn Gould Society here.
He said, "I try to push Canadian artists in my store. I think Canadians
should have nationalism, good nationalism; we should be proud of who
we are. For me, as an Armenian, we would have nothing without our
nationalism. But as Canadians, we don't want to push."
He seemed perplexed. I said we used to push but we've stopped; it is
as if we've conceded culture to the Americans.
Harmik leaned forward and stared fiercely and said, "The past 25 years
have been great, hard-working years, doing good for a country that
has accepted me as a citizen." He paused to gather more fierceness.
"Now I want to tell you from my heart - Canadians should be proud. We
have great artists: Bayrakdarian, Kuerti ... Glenn Gould. We are not
less than the world." He's right.
Here's to 25 more years of fierceness.