“Where Are You? It Weighs Heavily on Me” was playing over the loudspeakers, and everyone was singing along at the top of their lungs that Sunday afternoon in Nice, waiting for Giorgos Mazonakis “to return to his old neighborhood,” “to the bench where he had written down his dreams”…And on this final return, he was surrounded by thousands of people who rushed to reciprocate his love for the melodies, the performances, the moments, the memories, the care he had so generously offered for more than three decades.
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are a “burden”
ΣΧΕΤΙΚΑ ΑΡΘΡΑ
@protothema.gr Hundreds of people are flocking to the Holy Church of the Holy Trinity in Nikaia, to pay their final respects to Giorgos Mazonakis, who passed away on Wednesday, September 9, from a cardiac arrest at the private Stem Cell clinic. #protothema #news #greektiktok #tiktokgreece ♬ original sound – protothema.gr
In a strange way, the atmosphere in the courtyard of Agia Triada, the parish church of his family home located directly across the street, where he used to sing as a child, was different from other farewells to popular artists we’ve witnessed in the past. Yes, it was emotional, but it also felt, in a way, like a celebration. A celebration of love for a talented man, a born star, who, despite his artistic success, remained humble and approachable—he never forgot who he was or where he came from.
@protothema.gr Video from above showing the singer’s friends singing—even from their balconies—“You Are My Last Mistake” #protothema #news #mazonakis #greektiktok #tiktokgreece @Marinos Aleiferis
♬ original sound – protothema.gr
And this sincerity, his truth, which he expressed primarily through his singing—in his own unique and instantly recognizable way—is what secured him a special place in the hearts of people of all ages. Because Mazou managed, thanks to his talent but mainly thanks to his authenticity, to resonate with many people for different reasons: he was the kid from the western suburbs who wasn’t afraid to believe in his own strengths and pursue his dreams, the ultimate entertainer who, for three whole decades, was associated with their youth—their parties, their all-nighters, their drunken binges, their crushes, but also their disappointments, their betrayals, dead ends, passions, and mistakes—the rock star of the dance floor, who could try anything, even the most extreme, without causing a stir—but also a sensitive and lonely man who thirsted for love and, for that very reason, offered it generously to anyone he felt needed it.
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Somehow, in a completely unpretentious way, he managed to become an integral part of the nation’s collective memory and popular sentiment. That is why the grief over his untimely and unjust death was so deep and so unexpectedly widespread.
So all those who admired and loved him, for all these reasons, came to bid him farewell. Not in the morning or at noon, as is customary in such cases, but from sunset until the early hours of the morning—just as when they would leave the nightclubs where he sang.
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Undoubtedly, the folk vigil was a better fit for “Child of the Night,” who, with “his records and his whiskey, in which he wanted to drown himself,” wrote his own story in modern Greek music, a world that not only embraced him wholeheartedly but also admired and loved him. Perhaps because, through his presence, his character, and his work, he always sought to unite rather than divide.
So yesterday, Sunday, Giorgos Mazonakis brought us together in our old neighborhood, right where we all started. Old classmates we hadn’t seen in years, friends who once played basketball and volleyball at “Platon,” , watched soccer together at the Proodeftiki stadium and hung the Olympiacos flag from their balconies—those of us who used to drink frappe and other drinks in Korydallos, at “Aegli” in Eleftherias Square, or at “Koukos” and “Nefeli” on Memou Square, where we ate souvlaki at “Aganachti,” where we danced until we dropped to the first hits at the “Vareladiko” in Piraeus, proud of our own son, and how, after the art-house shows at the Athenian music venues, we’d always make sure to catch a Mazonakis performance to wrap up the night on a high note…
Among the 50-somethings who walked alongside him in the sunshine, through the stiflingly crowded narrow streets and past the lit-up balconies of the apartment buildings in Nikaia, were their parents, now elderly themselves, who saw in Giorgos Mazonakis’s clear gaze the honest young man who never forgot that he came from humble beginnings, who rushed to help, quietly, wherever he sensed a need; until two years ago, he would come every Sunday to his parents’ home for a meal, but he also strayed, was hurt, and became disillusioned. Along with their grandchildren—from babies to teenagers—who, strangely enough, know by heart the songs he released when they weren’t even born yet. And this coming together of different generations, different social classes, and different tastes was Mazonakis’s greatest achievement.
Even several hours after midnight, the roads leading to Agia Triada were still gridlocked. On Lambraki Avenue and Petrou Ralli Street, cars and buses coming from the countryside were moving at a snail’s pace. In many of them, his songs were playing at full volume, while the difficulty of coming to terms with his passing was evident in the eyes of their passengers. Perhaps that is why, when they welcomed him yesterday afternoon, they did not shout “goodbye” but “we love you.”
Nice stayed awake all night yesterday. Giorgos Mazonakis’s songs played until morning as crowds streamed in, gradually, into the church to bid him farewell, leave a flower for him, and keep him company on his final night.
His funeral is scheduled for today at 1 p.m., a few blocks away, at the Third Cemetery. The family has expressed a wish for the service to be held in a private setting, something that seems quite difficult in practice, since all those who had followed him for years—constituting, as he himself said, his strength— will certainly want to accompany him on his final journey.
