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Turbo-Folk Music and Cultural Representations of National Identity In

Turbo-Folk Music and Cultural Representations of National Identity In

TURBO-FOLK AND CULtURAL REPRESENtAtIONS OF NAtIONAL IDENtItY IN FORmER For Ena and for Marijana, from Toowoomba to Banja Luka Turbo- and Cultural Representations of National Identity in Former Yugoslavia

Uroš Čvoro UNSW Australia First published 2014 by Ashgate Publishing

Published 2016 by Routledge 2 Park Square, Milton Park, Abingdon, Oxon OX14 4RN 711 Third Avenue, New York, NY 10017, USA

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Copyright © 2014 Uroš Č voro Uroš Čvoro has asserted his right under the Copyright, Designs and Patents Act, 1988, to be identified as the author of this work. All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reprinted or reproduced or utilised in any form or by any electronic, mechanical, or other means, now known or hereafter invented, including photocopying and recording, or in any information storage or retrieval system, without permission in writing from the publishers.

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British Library Cataloguing in Publication Data A catalogue record for this book is available from the British Library

The Library of Congress has cataloged the printed edition as follows: Cvoro, Uros. Turbo-folk music and cultural representations of national identity in former Yugoslavia/by Uros Cvoro. pages cm. — (Ashgate Popular and folk music series) Includes bibliographical references and index. ISBN 978-1-4724-2036-7 (hardcover : alk. paper) 1. —Political aspects— Former Yugoslav republics. 2. Turbo-folk music—Former Yugoslav republics—History and criticism. I. Title. ML3499.Y8C86 2014 781.6409497—dc23 2013047650

ISBN 9781472420367 (hbk) ISBN 9781315549583 (ebk) Contents

List of Figures vii General Editor’s Preface ix Acknowledgements xi List of Abbreviations xiii

Introduction: The Three Stories of Turbo-folk 1

Part I turbo-nation: Turbo-folk and Representations of National Identity in Former Yugoslavia, 1970–2010

1 The People’s Eastern Kitsch: Self-management, Modernisation and ‘Newly Composed Folk Music’ in Yugoslavia 29

2 Remember the Nineties?: Turbo-folk as the Vanishing Mediator of 55

3 Beyond : Turbo-folk across Cultural and National Boundaries 81

Part II turbo-culture: Cultural Responses to Turbo-folk

4 Turbo-art: Music and National Identity in the Work of Contemporary Artists from Former Yugoslavia 105

5 They Can Be Heroes: and Public Sculpture in Former Yugoslavia 129

6 Singin’ in the Film: Turbo-folk and Self-exoticisation in the Films of Srđan Dragojević 155

Conclusion 179 Bibliography 185 Index 195 This page has been left blank intentionally List of Figures

2.1 Ceca, Sydney 2010 (Dragana Marinković – One Love Photography) 59

4.1 Zoran Naskovski, Smrt u Dalasu, installation view. The American Effect Exhibition, Whitney Museum of Art, 2003 (photograph provided by the artist) 109

5.1 Rocky Balboa, Sculpture, 3 metres. Žitište, Northern Serbia, 2007 (photograph by the author) 132 This page has been left blank intentionally General Editor’s Preface

The upheaval that occurred in during the last two decades of the twentieth century has created a new urgency for the study of popular music alongside the development of new critical and theoretical models. A relativistic outlook has replaced the universal perspective of modernism (the international ambitions of the 12-note style); the grand narrative of the evolution and dissolution of tonality has been challenged, and emphasis has shifted to cultural context, reception and subject position. Together, these have conspired to eat away at the status of canonical and categories of high and low in music. A need has arisen, also, to recognize and address the emergence of crossovers, mixed and new , to engage in debates concerning the vexed problem of what constitutes authenticity in music and to offer a critique of musical practice as the product of free, individual expression. Popular musicology is now a vital and exciting area of scholarship, and the Ashgate Popular and Folk Music Series presents some of the best research in the field. Authors are concerned with locating musical practices, values and meanings in cultural context, and may draw upon methodologies and theories developed in cultural studies, semiotics, poststructuralism, psychology and sociology. The series focuses on popular of the twentieth and twenty-first centuries. It is designed to embrace the world’s popular musics from Acid to , whether high tech or low tech, commercial or non-commercial, contemporary or traditional.

Professor Derek B. Scott, Professor of Critical Musicology, University of Leeds, UK This page has been left blank intentionally Acknowledgements

Research for this book was funded by a two-year Discovery Grant from the Australian Research Council (ARC). A version of Chapter 2 appeared in Cultural Politics as ‘Remember the Nineties? Turbo-folk as the Vanishing Mediator of Nationalism’. It has been substantially expanded and revised. My ideas about cultural representations of national identity and nationalism have benefited from my ongoing intellectual engagement with valued colleagues and friends at the UNSW’s National Institute for Experimental Arts (NIEA), in particular Jill Bennett and David McNeill. I would like to thank Zoran Naskovski for his generosity and willingness to discuss his work. I owe gratitude to Tim Gregory and Chrysi Lionis for their friendship and humour, as well as their enthusiastic help with the preparation of this manuscript. The editorial team at Ashgate has been extremely professional. In particular I would like to thank Heidi Bishop for being so quick and efficient. This page has been left blank intentionally List of Abbreviations

EPP Economic Propaganda Program ICTY International Criminal Tribunal for the former Yugoslavia JUL Yugoslav United Left KFOR Kosovo Force (NATO) KLA Kosovo Liberation Army KPJ Yugoslav Communist Party LGBT Lesbian, Gay, Bisexual and Transgender NATO North Atlantic Treaty Organization NCFM Newly Composed Folk Music NDH Independent State of (Nazi ally during WWII) NGO Non-Governmental Organization RASMC World Mega Tzar SKJ Communist Association of Yugoslavia SKS Central Committee of the Serbian Communist Party SOTS Socialist Art SSJ Serbian Unity Party UN United Nations USSR Union of Soviet Socialist Republics This page has been left blank intentionally Introduction The Three Stories of Turbo-folk

Turbofolk is tacky, high-octane with melodies based loosely on traditional Balkan folk music. Which would make it the same as popular music in pretty much any country in if it wasn’t also paid for by the Serbian and Croatian mafias (sometimes the Montenegrin) and served as the soundtrack to some of the most heinous war crimes since the Holocaust.1

This description accompanies Part 2 of ‘The Vice Guide to the ’ – an episode of the highly popular The Vice Guide to Travel documentary series. The episode is dedicated to the music scene in and filled with fast cars, fake- tanned women with large breast implants, excessively loud music, and ‘men who look like murderers’. At one point in the episode, the narrating journalist is shown inside a turbo-folk , heavily intoxicated, and complaining about how much brandy he and his local companions have consumed: ‘All I did was drink brandy and listen to music that felt like I was being punched in the face!’. The report provides the historical context for turbo-folk, which peaked in popularity during the nineties. This was during the time of the civil wars in Bosnia and Croatia, and at the time of international sanctions against Serbia that caused hyperinflation and a steep decrease in living standards. The report mirrors the intrigue that surrounds turbo-folk’s populist celebration of hedonism and consumerism. It also captures the patriotic overtones of turbo-folk that provided an escape from grim reality, and aligned the music with the interests of Serb nationalists. However, within the engaging style and abundance of humorous and insightful situations, there is a striking absence in The Vice Guide’s account of turbo-folk. The Vice Guide’s report fails to mention that, despite its history, turbo-folk has survived the political fall, incarceration and death of Slobodan Milošević and the North Atlantic Treaty Organization (NATO) bombing of Serbia. Further still, it has risen in popularity, crossing ethnic boundaries throughout Bosnia, Croatia and . The Vice Guide’s decision to ignore the popularity of turbo-folk across the Balkans in the post-Milošević era is significant because it reinforces the view of turbo-folk as ‘a soundtrack for genocide’ financed by criminals and performed by hyper-sexualised femmes fatales. This view not only oversimplifies the relationship of turbo-folk to national identity in ex-Yugoslavia, but also presents it as a dangerous form of music whose threat extends beyond popular

1 The description and documentary are available at: ‘The Vice Guide to the Balkans – Part 2’, Vice (February 2012), accessed 20 October 2012, http://www.vice.com/the-vice- guide-to-travel/the-vice-to-the-balkans-part-2. 2 TURBO-FOLK MUSIC AND NAtIONAL IDENtItY IN FORmER YUgOSLAvIA culture to a range of political and historical issues, such as ethnic violence, crime and a recent bloody history. Turbo-folk Music and Cultural Representations of National Identity in Former Yugoslavia is an investigation of the significance of turbo-folk beyond the music. It considers the broader influence of turbo-folk by locating the music as a political and cultural mediator of national identity in ex-Yugoslavia. With a musical make up consisting of high-energy electronic synthesised with folkloric elements and themes from Slavic, Oriental and Mediterranean music, turbo-folk speaks volumes about the place from which it has sprung. While the mixing of the electronic pop form (‘turbo’) and the local musical tradition (‘folk’) stylistically varies very little from a range of similar genres in the region (such as Laïko-pop in , in and in ), turbo-folk is distinguished by its cultural and political lineage, and particularly by its historical proximity to the political rise of Milošević and nationalism in Serbia in the late eighties. Though its historical lineage extends far further, turbo-folk remains the most consistently popular of music in the territories of ex-Yugoslavia since the nineties. By tracing the history of turbo-folk from the seventies to the present, this book analyses the connections between the cultural and political paradoxes of turbo-folk. The paradox of turbo-folk can be evidenced in reports such as that by The Vice Guide, where it is described as ‘backwards’ and ‘kitsch’ music, whose iconography represents a cultural threat to cosmopolitan culture and identity. Within this view, ‘turbo-folk’ is often used as a negative label that conflates the pathologies in Serbia under Milošević during the nineties. That is to say, it is perceived as part of a popular culture that was an ideological construction of the Milošević regime and a direct expression of Serb nationalism; a mass-produced media spectacle that fosters mindless consumerism, sexism and criminality; and a triumph of the primitive and backwards Balkan over its cosmopolitan European counterpart. However, in contrast, turbo-folk’s iconography is also perceived by the public as a ‘genuinely Balkan’ cultural form of resistance to the perceived threat of cultural globalisation and neoliberalism. The political paradox of turbo- folk rests in the absent centre of ‘The Vice Guide to the Balkans’. Put simply, although turbo-folk is closely connected to the Serbian nationalism of the Milošević regime, its popularity transcends nationalist animosities – particularly in Croatia and Bosnia – and effectively acts as a cultural form of reconciliation. Turbo-folk Music and Cultural Representations of National Identity in Former Yugoslavia traces the shifting political and cultural attitudes towards turbo-folk as a way to think through representations of national identity in ex-Yugoslavia. It shows that different reactions to turbo-folk reveal the slippages in the space between state and culture and between conceptions of national identity and its cultural expressions. These relationships are described in this introductory chapter as the three histories of turbo-folk: the musical background, the ideological background and the cultural influence. Divided into two parts, this book consists of three chapters that comprise Part I, and three chapters that comprise Part II. The first part provides an account of INtRODUCtION 3 the intersection of music and ideology between seventies Yugoslavia and the present. The second part follows the political and cultural influence of turbo-folk beyond music to show how conceptions of national identity that were projected onto turbo-folk become concepts that are manifested in different cultural avenues, such as art, sculpture, architecture and film. Visual artists use folk music asa ready-made way to problematise notions of ‘national representation’ in art, and to demonstrate the volatile and complex position of popular music in the history of Yugoslavia and its successor states. Public sculptures that appear in post-Yugoslav public spaces feature popular culture icons that recall the socialist public sphere and the entertainment industry. Films reference both the shared cultural legacy of Yugoslavia in popular music and articulate the demise of the country through the violent struggle over the meaning of that legacy. Taken together, these constitute a trajectory of a cultural memory of a country that goes beyond just music or political organisation. In one sense then, this book is an intervention into the meaning of cultural populism at a time of political remapping of Europe, and a powerful resurgence of various forms of nationalist populisms. These populisms range from the nationalism of Greece’s anti-austerity movement, anti-immigrant across Western Europe, and the religious fundamentalism rising in the wake of the Arab Spring; to the populist movements in ex-Yugoslavia from the growing presence of radical Wahhabis in Bosnia, and Serb nationalists protesting against the International Criminal Tribunal for the Former Yugoslavia (ICTY) trials of Radovan Karadžic, Ratko Mladić and Vojislav Šešelj. This book should thus be viewed as a study of European culture at a particular moment in history. This moment is one where history seems to be catching up to post-ideological Europe, and when Francis Fukuyama’s notion of the ‘End of History’ – an optimistic view of the world at the end of the Cold War tensions – now causes one to wince at its bittersweet irony. The historical proximity between the appearance of turbo-folk music and the rise of nationalist populism in Yugoslavia is relatively well known, and certainly not an isolated phenomenon in light of the events in Europe since the end of the Cold War. It is for this reason that this book seeks to highlight an often-overlooked aspect of the rise of turbo-folk as popular culture in the context of post-Yugoslav societies: the simultaneous disappearance (or the destruction) of the political, social and cultural spaces of the working class. Socialist Yugoslavia was a society that, at least on an official level, was for most of its history dedicated tothe modernisation and emancipation of its ‘working people’. This included active and genuine attempts to foster and promote a pan-Yugoslav culture ‘for the people’ that received support from all of the political space. This also included a relatively high degree of tolerance of popular culture and openness to influences from Western popular culture, film in particular, and especially in comparison to the approach of the rest of the Eastern Bloc. As Chapter 1 shows, it is precisely because of this idiosyncratic economic, political and cultural position of Yugoslavia, that the popular culture that developed also had a distinctive and peculiar 4 TURBO-FOLK MUSIC AND NAtIONAL IDENtItY IN FORmER YUgOSLAvIA character. The popular culture in Yugoslavia was located between a divergent and often contradictory network of influences: between the historical roots in Eastern tradition (Ottoman and Byzantine) and Westward leanings; politically, it was socialist and yet it was consumerist, like its capitalist counterparts; and aesthetically, it was caught between socialist realism and Western postmodernism. This popular culture survived the death of Yugoslavia, and its most popular and visible continuation is turbo-folk. As the cultural inheritance of ‘people’s music’ in former Yugoslavia, turbo-folk is the most popular remainder of the cultural heritage of socialism (some other forms are discussed in Chapter 5). Crucially, and in contrast to other cultural forms, the popularity of turbo-folk is not steeped in socialist nostalgia but in an attempt to articulate a cultural language that speaks to the trappings of contemporary life in the region. Following the dissolution of Yugoslavia and the bloody wars of the nineties, the post-Yugoslav mini-states find themselves in the process of so-called ‘transition’: an official buzz word used to describe the shift into neoliberal capitalism, privatisation, growing inequality between systemic poverty and new wealth, mass unemployment, and the rapid dismantling of established social safety nets. In the newly formed ‘national’ states, a key aspect of this process is the highlighting of, and insistence on, national identities and ‘national rights’ of the people, as opposed to the rights of the workers or lower classes. In the case of turbo-folk then, the framework for our analysis is the destruction of both the former socialist working class and its political, social and cultural spaces of expression. Analysing turbo-folk, as well as its surrounding debates and controversies, marks an attempt to shed some light on the way in which the working class, or ‘the people’, no longer exist in the Balkans, despite the ongoing existence of its (very loud and very popular) music. This analysis draws on the work of Slavoj Žižek, who has provided not only the most critically insightful articulation of events in nineties Yugoslavia, but also positioned these events within a broader political context. Žižek’s articulation of enjoyment as an excess of meaning in the symbolic universe provides a way to open up the discussion of turbo-folk. Turbo-folk has, in most cases, been articulated and understood as a point of excess – a signifier of something that cannot easily be co- opted into the political or cultural space in the Balkans. Žižek describes enjoyment as the fusing of pleasure and pain into an unbearable intensity to suggest how ideological formations work as economies of directing and commanding enjoyment. Ideology takes hold of the subject at the point of excess outside the meaning that the ideological formation provides. While Žižek never explicitly refers to turbo-folk, his discussion of nationalism in ex-Yugoslavia frequently references the cultural and political landscape that produced this music. For instance, he suggests that Serbia under Milošević worked as a carnival state of permissive nationalism in which everything was permitted (other than challenging the leader). This understanding of national identification through permitted excess recalls Žižek’s account of the way communities organise their enjoyment through cultural practices: ‘A nation exists only as long as its specific enjoyment continues to be INtRODUCtION 5 materialized in a set of social practices and transmitted through national myths that structure these practices’.2 Žižek argues that a key component of enjoyment is that it is conceived as something inaccessible to the Other, while at the same time is threatened by the Other. He explains the rise of nationalism in ex-Yugoslavia as a network of thefts in which each nationality has constructed its own mythology about how other nations deprive it of some essential part of enjoyment.3 Žižek’s articulation of nationalism as steeped in stolen enjoyment recalls the persistent perception of turbo-folk as a ‘Serb thing’ that seduces all other ethnic groups in the region. This articulation of enjoyment helps explain the nexus of cultural mythologies that have generated perceptions of turbo-folk, while accounting for the malleability of those perceptions, which range from politically charged self-exoticisation, to self-victimisation, to self-empowering defiance. This can include the perception of turbo-folk as what Žižek calls the ‘Balkan ghost’ – a symbolic attribute that designates a position of mindless and excessive enjoyment.4 This can also include the way representational strategies of turbo-folk were appropriated by the Milošević regime in the nineties and during the anti-NATO demonstrations in 2000 in Belgrade as a ‘collective Bakhtinian carnivalisation of social life’.5 However, this can also include seeing turbo-folk as what Žižek calls ‘postmodern’ or ‘reverse nationalism’ that celebrates the exotic authenticity and lust for life of the Balkans, in contrast to the inhibited anaemic and emasculated Western Europeans.6 Žižek’s articulation of the mythologies of the ‘theft of enjoyment’ also helps explain the way that the antagonisms that shaped perceptions of turbo- folk were already structured into the socialist state apparatus. This includes the ideologies and mythologies that influenced the views of Yugoslavia, such as self-management. Self-management introduced a shift to a market- based economy, which enabled the growth of the entertainment industry and development of popular culture in Yugoslavia. Popular culture not only came as a direct consequence of socialist modernisation in Yugoslavia, but was also due to Yugoslavia’s shift away from Stalinism and towards political independence. This shift coincided with the global explosion of pop music, which continued to play a crucial role in Yugoslavia in the seventies, during the political turmoil of the eighties and nineties in ex-Yugoslavia, and during the previous decade. Following from this, it is possible to extend Ante Perković’s suggestion that socialist Yugoslavia was itself a pop creation, and thus it can be argued that

2 Slavoj Žižek, Tarrying With the Negative: Kant, Hegel, and the Critique of Ideology (Durham: Duke University Press, 1993), p. 202. 3 Ibid., p. 204. 4 Slavoj Žižek, The Fragile Absolute: Or, Why is the Christian Legacy Worth Fighting For? (London: Verso, 2000), p. 5. 5 Slavoj Žižek, “Against the Double Blackmail”, in The Universal Exception: Selected Writings, Vol. 2, edited by Rex Butler and Scott Stephens (New York: Continuum, 2006), p. 265. 6 Žižek, The Fragile Absolute, p. 5. 6 TURBO-FOLK MUSIC AND NAtIONAL IDENtItY IN FORmER YUgOSLAvIA the role of popular music as a cultural mediator of identity remains key to understanding Yugoslavia’s dissolution and the states that appeared in its wake.7 It was because of the idiosyncratic structure of self-management that the popular culture developed into one that had a distinctive and peculiar character. As Žižek argues, the ‘fundamental paradox’ of Yugoslav self-management socialism was that the official ideology could be continually emphasising one message while, between the lines of the propaganda, it could suggest that its official solicitations were not to be taken too literally and that a cynical attitude towards its ideology was deliberately cultivated.8 As Chapter 2 illustrates, this double coding of official language was manifested in reactions to popular music at particular moments of socialist development in Yugoslavia. Further, Žižek’s account of the shift from a shared culture of socialism into separatist-nationalist capitalism – through the concept of the vanishing mediator – also helps explain the way leftovers of that shared culture remain in the social field. The vanishing mediator describes a process of historical transformation in which the agent of that transformation ‘vanishes’ once the change is completed. Here, it is used to describe the way turbo-folk acted as the agent of change from Serb nationalism in the nineties to transnational ‘Balkan’ regionalism in the first decade of this century. Although Žižek’s analysis provides a powerful lens through which to consider turbo-folk, it is also important to note that Žižek has now become almost a staple of any critical or theoretical engagement with the Balkans. In this regard, one must be wary of the way in which Žižek has increasingly been positioned as the spokesperson for the Balkans, and the way Žižek’s critical insight often exoticises and ‘Balkanises’ the Balkans, as well as himself. While the increasing influence of Žižek’s work in studies of the Balkans is largely indicative of his broader popularity in the academic community, the frequent slavish embrace of his insights runs the risk of generating a field of ready-made theory that simply reproduces, rather than engages with, Žižek. The starting position of this book, then, is that turbo-folk as a form of cultural nationalism and Žižek’s conception of nationalism originate in the same socio- political coordinates and appeared at around the same time. While this explains the almost illustrative relationship between the representational strategies of turbo-folk and Žižek’s reading of self-exoticisation in the Balkans, it also draws attention to Žižek’s own relationship to Western academia, which often works through a similar process of self-exoticisation. His position as a ‘wild man of theory’ who actively provokes his audience with Eastern European idiosyncrasies and endless dirty jokes comes dangerously close to the performance of the ‘Balkan carnival’ of which he is so critical.

7 Ante Perković, The Seventh Republic: Pop Culture in the Dissolution of Yugoslavia (: Novi Liber, 2011), p. 27. 8 Slavoj Žižek, “Attempts to Escape the Logic of Capitalism”, in The Universal Exception: Selected Writings, vol. 2, edited by Rex Butler and Scott Stephens (London: Continuum, 2006), p. 142. INtRODUCtION 7

It is often easy to forget that what hides behind this ‘Balkan carnival’ is the real tragedy of the that resulted in the deaths of over 140,000 people, the displacement of millions of other people, and the destruction of a multiethnic country. The Balkans were always presented as the ‘wild East’ of Europe, and the war enabled the media to amplify this discourse of ‘European other’ by labelling its people as irrationally wild and passionate. This is important to consider when seeking to understand the broader context of turbo-folk (even if it is beyond the scope of this book) and possibly to explain why Žižek is so often characterised the way he is. This sense of cultural difference that is channelled as nationalism in a region where shared identity is fraught suggests an idea of ‘impossible identity’. The impossibility here refers to the inability, or refusal, to identify with any of the ethnic identities that have emerged in the wake of Yugoslavia. This idea of the impossibility of identity in the region forms the connection between this book and my own personal experience. Accordingly, in the interest of full disclosure, my personal investment in this project can be summarised as an attempt to think through the question of collective identity as it plays itself out through discussions and perceptions of turbo-folk. Turbo-folk emerged during a particularly dark episode in Yugoslavia’s history – one that affected me and all those living in the region. In 1992, my hometown, Mostar, was caught in a bloody civil war, and I was caught in this war for several months. After leaving Mostar in September 1992 (and not returning for 20 years), I lived in Croatia, Slovenia and Serbia, before finally moving to Australia. During every step of my travels, I was perceived as the outsider: in Mostar, we were one of the ‘unpatriotic’ Serbs who stayed in the besieged city; in Croatia, we were Serbs; in Slovenia, we were Balkan Southerners; and in Serbia, I was accused of being a Muslim. Somewhat refreshingly, in Australia, I was just a refugee. These experiences not only personally illustrate Žižek’s notion of the ‘Balkan ghost’, but also sparked my interest in constructions and perceptions of national identity. While living in Serbia between 1993 and 1995, during the worst years of international sanctions, hyperinflation and nationalism, turbo-folk remained a constant. These were the years of media saturation with turbo-folk, cheap soap operas, fortune tellers and all sorts of show business swindlers. Turbo-folk was seen as the music of the Serbs despite the fact that it was listened to by all sides at the time. As such, it was connected to ideas about nationalism and belonging. However, turbo-folk was also the music of ‘peasants’ and the sound of the ‘Orient’. No one openly admitted to enjoying it – rather, everyone stated, ‘I only listen to it when I am drunk’ or ‘I only listen to the good kind, not the trash’. Yet the clubs were full and the tours were sold out. I did not listen to turbo-folk, but most of my friends did. I still do not listen to turbo-folk (although researching this book has created a new kind of unsettling familiarity with it), yet many of my friends and relatives do. For those who were willing to discuss their enjoyment of turbo-folk, when I asked them what was so attractive about it, the reply was usually similar to: ‘it speaks to my soul’, ‘it touches my emotions’ and ‘it helps me get over hard times’. However, and 8 TURBO-FOLK MUSIC AND NAtIONAL IDENtItY IN FORmER YUgOSLAvIA importantly, these conversations always went beyond the music, and inevitably resulted in heated debates about politics and national identity. These conversations reinforced the importance of two key questions about turbo-folk: first, how it figures within national identity and belonging as defined through music, and second, how it relates to one’s cultural affinities. These heated debates about politics and national identity illustrate that the cultural memory and history of socialist Yugoslavia and more recent times are latent in turbo-folk music. When considering turbo-folk as a cultural mediator of national identity, there are three histories that can be told: the musical history, the ideological history and the cultural history. While the first two have been at the centre of much of the available scholarship on turbo-folk, Turbo-folk Music and Cultural Representations of National Identity in Former Yugoslavia presents a third story of turbo-folk that explains the influence of turbo-folk music and representations of turbo-folk music in other cultural fields: art, sculpture, architecture and film. However, before exploring that history, it is first necessary to outline the (interconnected) musical and ideological histories of turbo-folk.

The Musical History of Turbo-Folk

Many of the Balkan region’s cultures are poised between the East and West. However, in the case of Yugoslavia, there is a distinct political difference regarding how this position was perceived and articulated through reactions to the music. Although a number of accounts suggest that the origins of turbo-folk’s mixing of ‘Eastern’ and ‘Western’ influences can be traced much earlier, I argue that the history of turbo- folk should begin in seventies Yugoslavia. While the perception of Yugoslavia East/West crossroads did exist much earlier, the discussion of this perception through music became a culturally and politically pronounced mythology from the seventies onwards. It is precisely the economic structures, state policies and political shifts in this period that made the mythology of the music possible. The common approach of projecting the narrative of ‘Newly Composed Folk Music’ into earlier history only serves to amplify this mythology and obfuscate the fact that it is intrinsic to the socio-political makeup of seventies Yugoslavia. While Yugoslavia was always the crossroads of a variety of cultural influences, the mixing of those influences in popular culture, as well as the political reaction to this process, only properly took shape in the seventies. As Chapter 2 will show, this is because this decade witnessed the birth of the entertainment industry and popular culture in Yugoslavia, which became the Hollywood of the Eastern Bloc. Thus, I argue that the mixing of cultural influences in turbo-folk cannot be separated from the particular way in which they were mixed: through the aesthetics and stylisation of Western pop music. INtRODUCtION 9

Newly Composed Folk Music

The seventies saw the rise of Newly Composed Folk Music (NCFM), which took the postmodern approach to folklore. Drawing on folk tradition, such as village singing in small groups or ritual-tied instrumental music, authors started experimenting with pop music idioms in terms of structure and lyrical themes that dealt with the contemporary trappings of life. It is crucial to point out that this was not only happening in Yugoslavia, but was part of the broader global emergence of so-called ‘’. In Yugoslavia and beyond, folk music was being transformed by a number of rock and jazz who began to incorporate elements of folk as a way to experiment and expand their sound. Ljerka Vidić Rasmussen provides the most succinct and accurate description of the formal structure, harmonic basis and performance format of NCFM, which was crystallised by the late sixties:

Adopted were the verse–chorus–verse structure of the pop song, with an extension of the I–IV–V harmonic framework to include augmented and diminished chords. Along with occasional acoustic instruments characteristic of regional traditions (e.g. tapan and darabuka drums), new instruments were introduced: electric and bass, keyboards and electronic drums. The was retained by musicians as the quintessential folk instrument; a material and symbolic link with music in the folk spirit.9

NCFM combined pop sensibilities with ‘regional codes’, such as a distinctive rhythmic pattern, a melodic sequence and an instrumental or textual motif associated with local traditions. The resulting music functioned as a sum of recognisable framed around motifs of love, regional belonging, family and everyday life. A good illustration of NCFM is the hit single ‘I Loved A Girl From The City’ (‘Voleo Sam Devojku Iz Grada’, 1972) that skyrocketed the career of Serbian performer Miroslav Ilić. The song’s soothing melody and soft 2/4 rhythm is driven by Ilić’s vocals. and accordion accompany the main vocal melody, which is embellished with instrumental breaks between the verses. The speak about the cultural divide between the countryside and the city. The idyllic rustic setting is contrasted against the moral corruption of the unnamed metropolis. The song is told from the perspective of a young man from a village who is seduced by an urban girl. She takes advantage of his naïve affectations and deserts him for another lover. The song finishes with his return to the simple ways of the village and rejection of the city. This is reinforced by the video for the song, which is a juxtaposition of the youthful Ilić singing, dressed in traditional Serbian village attire, against shots of the femme fatale city girl dressed in trendy

9 Ljerka Vidić Rasmussen, “From Source to Commodity: Newly-Composed Folk ”, Popular Music 14/2 (1995): 245. 10 TURBO-FOLK MUSIC AND NAtIONAL IDENtItY IN FORmER YUgOSLAvIA

(seventies) clothes, played in the video by Belgrade actress Sonja Savić – an icon of liberal and urban youth in Yugoslavia. ‘I Loved A Girl From The City’ thus represents NCFM’s emphasis on regional codes and captures the common motifs of love, belonging and everyday life that were prevalent in the music. However, in one sense, the musical and lyrical experimentation that underpinned NCFM, as evidenced by the Ilić song, was barely distinguishable from a number of similar music genres occurring around the world. Thus, what is crucial here are not the musical distinctions between different genres, but the cultural attitudes that were attached to each genre. From the outset, NCFM was seen as the antithesis to progressive modern Yugoslavia. It was seen as the domain of the uncultured, uneducated and generally backward people. This set it in opposition to the Yugoslav state that actively sought to promote and project an image of a progressive liberal society through openness to Western influences. As Chapter 1 will show, these influences included Hollywood films, postmodern art and popular music from the West. Consumption of popular music became one of the key points around which cultural identity and difference was structured in Yugoslavia. While this was initially articulated around the question of taste, soon the objections to NCFM took shape around one particular aspect of the music, described by Rasmussen in the following terms:

The distinguishing stylistic trait of NCFM, however, is what is ambiguously referred to as the ‘oriental’. This style, which is historically associated with Turkish cultural dominance under the centuries-long Ottoman rule in the region, has evolved into a unifying framework for distinct musical practices throughout Bosnia, Macedonia and southern Serbia. In simplest terms, the characteristics of the oriental style are richly-ornamented melodies with various trill patterns used both decoratively and structurally, and minor modes featuring augmented seconds.10

This ‘oriental’ trait became the key defining musical feature of NCFM. In particular, as Chapter 2 will show, the Belgrade musical group and production team Southern Wind became synonymous with the perceived orientalisation of music. Despite this, Southern Wind was also the musical bridge to what eventually became known as turbo-folk.

Turbo-folk

Turbo-folk can be considered the next step in the musical evolution of NCFM because it fused world music and Euro-pop in cultural isolation with a national profile. It expanded the fusion of ethno music with electronic pop that had been happening for a decade in Yugoslavia. It substituted the folkloric lyrical motifs and instrumentation with synthesised sounds, MTV-style presentation and pictures of

10 Rasmussen, “From Source to Commodity”, 247–8. INtRODUCtION 11 urban hedonism. In terms of musical characteristics, the key difference was in turbo- folk’s substituting of the mixed metre of NCFM with techno or dance beats.11 The music is layered over this beat, and mainly includes the electronically processed sound of instruments such as , trumpets, or (the token folk instrument). Like NCFM, turbo-folk songs usually feature an instrumental ‘dance’ break in which a particular melody is further developed and can intermingle with other instruments. The style of singing is a continuation of NCFM melismatic vocals (Southern Wind in particular), with a higher degree of embellished melodies. Like NCFM, turbo-folk vocalists use a variety of local melodic codes (Roma, Serbian, Bosnian and Macedonian), as well as international styles, such as Swedish pop, Italian canzone and, in some cases, with English lyrics. There is little in terms of musical distinction that can differentiate turbo-folk from NCFM, and they generally have more or less identical audiences. In most respects, turbo-folk was a continuation of the same musical experimentation, but it allowed more pop and electronic influences to be introduced to the music. However, what did distinguish turbo-folk was the broader ideological context in which it appeared, which defined its national profile. As Ivana Kronja argues:

Turbo-folk celebrated materialism, hedonism, excess and sexual innuendo during the worst years of war and sanctions against Serbia, presenting a rosy and escapist picture of reality.12

This included songs that indirectly addressed the grim reality of war and sanctions, in many cases by singing about the good life. The archetypal turbo-folk song and video that provided the blueprint for much of what followed was ‘200 mph’ (‘Dvesta Na Sat’, 1994) by Ivan Gavrilović. Released in the year that saw the continuation of the bloody conflict in Bosnia, including the Markale massacre in Sarajevo less than 300 kilometres away from Belgrade, ‘200 mph’ is an upbeat ode to speeding. Its lyrics refer to ‘getting out of the city’ by pressing ‘the pedal to the metal’, and its video is filmed in a car mechanic shop and features dancers in car mechanic outfits. The song opens with the shout ‘techno-folk!’, yet much of what follows is difficult to differentiate from the plethora of dance pop of the period. However, around one minute into the song, one can hear a few seconds of synthesised accordion played in folk style. This suggestion of folk through a momentary rupture became the trademark of turbo-

11 I am drawing on Jasmina Milojević’s succinct explanation of turbo-folk: Jasmina Milojević, “Turbo-folk: World Music ili postmoderni Vavilon?”, Jazzy Mco Yu, accessed 22 October 2012, http://www.jazzymcoyu.page.tl/Turbo_folk.htm. 12 Ivana Kronja, “Turbo Folk and in 1990s Serbia: Media, Ideology and the Production of Spectacle”, The Anthropology of East Europe Review 22/1 (2004): 112. 12 TURBO-FOLK MUSIC AND NAtIONAL IDENtItY IN FORmER YUgOSLAvIA folk. Thus, the ‘folk’ of turbo-folk is mainly a suggestion of folkloric instruments through synthesised sound.13 The escapism with overt or less overt references to the surrounding crisis was also evident in other major turbo-folk hits from the nineties. Svetlana Ražnatović ‘Ceca’, who will be discussed in detail in Chapter 2, experienced major success with her song ‘Coward’ (‘Kukavica’, 1993), which laments the breakdown of a relationship between a married man and his young mistress. The song fuses the cult of female victimhood suggested by lyrics that describe the longing for an unrequited love, while also managing to appeal to female emancipation through sexuality. However, the song’s emphasis on female independence is undermined by its implicit appeal to patriarchy. Despite its challenge to the institution of marriage, ‘Coward’ is ultimately about missing the opportunity to marry the right man. While sexuality is implicit in ‘Coward’, it is blatantly explicit in Jelena Karleuša’s ‘Diamonds’ (‘Dijamanti’, 1998). Featuring the line, ‘I like doing gentle things in the dark, but quickly I get bored, that’s why I love diamonds, they are my best friends’, the song sounds equally awkward in Serbian. ‘Diamonds’ celebrates the objectification of women as a good business venture, where sexuality is a means of becoming rich quickly, and the intentional embrace of excess is promoted. The appeal of the aesthetic content of turbo-folk hits such as the two aforementioned songs is evident in the way it was materialised in everyday social practices. A large proportion of the female turbo-folk audience were ‘sponsored girls’, who, following the central premise of many of these songs, knowingly used their looks and sex appeal to get close to rich and powerful men. This celebration of excess and escapism was not only equally championed by male performers such as the singer of the aforementioned ‘200 mph’, but also complemented by the cult of criminality. ‘Blackout’ (‘Mrak, Mrak’, 1992) by Džej Ramadanovski is an example of such a song that enthusiastically celebrates aggressive outbursts of male jealousy. With the line, ‘If I knew, baby, who touched you, I’d shoot a bullet straight through his heart’, sung with an upbeat electro rhythm, ‘Blackout’ combines retrograde patriarchy with the mythos of the male warrior protecting ‘his territory’. While this song also suggests that the girl in question is very young (he refers to her as ‘little one’), this fantasy of owning a teenage girlfriend is the subject of Nino’s ‘Let’s Go Crazy Little One’ (‘Hajde Mala Da Pravimo Lom’, 1994). This song begins by establishing the age disparity between the couple, only to dismiss it with the chorus exchange between Nino that proposes, ‘Little one, let’s go crazy’, and the female voice that responds enthusiastically, ‘Why not?’.

13 Eric D. Gordy, The Culture of Power in Serbia: Nationalism and the Destruction of Alternatives (Philadelphia: Pennsylvania State University Press, 1999), p. 134. INtRODUCtION 13

Pop folk

If there is little that differentiates turbo-folk from NCFM musically, there is perhaps even less distinction between turbo-folk and what followed it. The main way to draw a historical line between turbo-folk and what can be called ‘pop folk’ is the year 2000, and the political overthrow of Milošević through mass protests in Serbia. Thus, the key difference is ideological rather than musical. The music that was produced after 2000 continued to incorporate even more pop elements into its sound, and, due to better production technologies, the records were packed with more highly produced and polished tracks. Despite this, the core ‘folk’ signifiers remained in melismatic vocals and the use of particular melodies. Once the ideology was removed, the line between turbo-folk and Western/European pop was made more ambiguous than ever. The music was purged of its nationalist content and completely left to the working of the market, thus becoming little more than a highly popular subculture of the Balkans. However, as Chapter 3 will show, the process by which the nationalism in turbo-folk vanished proved crucial in repositioning turbo- folk as an expression of a shared culture that I call ‘new Balkanness’. The way turbo-folk has recreated the shared cultural space is evident in the highly popular song ‘Superman’ (2004), recorded as a duet featuring a Serb and a Bosnian Muslim. Quickly following Serbia’s return to Eurovision – after not taking part from 1992 to 2004 because of international sanctions – Željko Joksimović, who performed the song, was invited to contribute as a guest on the Burek (named after a Bosnian cuisine) by . Merlin was a successful performer in Yugoslavia, and his often featured guests. During the war, he became a vocal Bosnian nationalist who recorded songs dedicated to the Bosnian president, Alija Izetbegović. Merlin’s political orientation continued to manifest through his music after the war, featuring distinctively Middle Eastern instrumentation and lyrical dedications to Bosnia. Burek was an example of this, including lyrics such as ‘who touches Bosnia should drop dead’ in the title song. The choice to include a duet with a Serb performer (albeit one that was not compromised by nationalist politics) was primarily an attempt to increase marketability across the border. However, the form of duet also recalls one of the most popular staples of pro-communist music in Yugoslavia. Duets paired performers of different ethnicities as a way to symbolise transnational unity. Thus, the two performers in ‘Superman’ were directly referencing a well-known and highly popular form of shared culture in Yugoslavia. Further, the style of music, while in the tradition of the turbo-folk fusion of folk instrumentation with electro beats, is distinctively more melancholic. Musically, it retains a proximity to turbo- folk, while suggesting a more refined and softer version of the style. Lyrically, the song describes a singular experience (told from the two perspectives of the two performers) of a man surrendering himself to the whimsical nature of his beloved. The two perspectives come together in the chorus line: ‘I’ll forgive her everything, I’m not Superman, so I can bear it all’. 14 TURBO-FOLK MUSIC AND NAtIONAL IDENtItY IN FORmER YUgOSLAvIA

The song employs a series of implicit signifiers of a shared past. First, both performers share the same emotions – although they articulate them slightly differently – towards an abstracted, gendered subject. Second, both performers are only addressing the abstracted subject in the song, yet the interweaving of their voices suggests a unitary message. Third, while it is never revealed who is the subject in the song, ‘she’ is clearly positioned within regional history. The second verse features the line ‘love is not written eye for an eye, tooth for tooth’, which is closely followed by ‘every bridge is bridge on the Drina’. The song connects the first line’s reference to conflict with the second line’s explicit mention of the book The Bridge on the Drina, which is not only one of the most famous and acclaimed literary works in Yugoslavia (written by Ivo Andrić, winner of the 1961 Nobel Prize in Literature), but also deals with inter-ethnic relations in Bosnia. ‘Superman’ thus features a series of floating signifiers of shared identity that are articulated and shared with exalted melancholy. The song’s commercial success was the result of its ability to tap into the void left by the destruction of the shared space of ex-Yugoslavia.

The Ideological History of Turbo-Folk

The ‘meaning’ of turbo-folk has always formed the centre of contention around the genre. Even before turbo-folk appeared in the early nineties, during the seventies and eighties, NCFM in Yugoslavia served as a lightning rod for political discussions in which music came second to ideology. It is interesting to note that no musicologists have conducted any substantial research on turbo-folk, and Rasmussen’s account of NCFM in Yugoslavia remains the sole systematic attempt at historical analysis.14 As Chapter 2 will argue, NCFM and turbo-folk were perceived through a series of cultural oppositions (urban–rural and rock–folk) that shifted over time: in the seventies, they were anchored around the question of taste and kitsch; in the eighties, they were framed around the question of the ‘oriental’ threat to national identity; in the nineties, they were split between good Europeanism (urban opposition to Milošević) and bad Serb nationalism (provincialism); and in the 2000s, turbo-folk became a signifier for transnational ‘Balkanness’ – a symbol of a regional identity that stands opposed to the neoliberal global capital. The important question here is not so much whether these perceptions were accurate, but how they mediated between daily politics and perceptions of national identity through culture.

14 Ljerka Vidić Rasmussen, Newly Composed Folk Music of Yugoslavia (London: Routledge, 2002). INtRODUCtION 15

1970s to 1980s: Socialist Norms of Taste

Yugoslavia was a liminal space located between divergent and contradictory historical processes: socially, it was oriented towards the East; politically, it was non-aligned and oriented towards the developing world (at least after the sixties); and economically – and politically, to an extent – it was oriented towards the West. In much the same way, popular culture in Yugoslavia occupied a position between the historical roots in Eastern tradition (Ottoman and Byzantine) and Westward leanings. Politically, Yugoslavia was socialist, and yet it was consumerist like its capitalist counterparts. Following from this, it was aesthetically caught between socialist realism and Western postmodernism. NCFM played a crucial role in Yugoslavia’s political and cultural dialectic as the cultural mediator between the two sides and the ground on which cultural anxieties were played out. The appearance of NCFM is thus not only synonymous with the appearance of the entertainment industry, but is also deeply reflective of its ambiguities. Arriving with sixties modernisation in Yugoslavia, NCFM used traditional folk music instrumentation, while adding new elements, such as electronic instrumentation, Euro-pop melodies, oriental melodies, Gypsy music, and Greek, Mexican, Spanish and even rock elements. However, between the sixties when it first emerged and the eighties when it reached its peak of popularity, NCFM moved further and further away from anything resembling ‘folk’. The shifting perceptions of NCFM and attitudes towards it can be identified at different stages of ‘socialist development’: the instrumental indoctrinating in the forties and fifties, the liberal populism of the sixties and seventies andthe politicisation of culture in the eighties. These three historical eras are punctuated by two key moments in the history of NCFM, when the symbolic structure of the state became apparent. Although, for most of the history of NCFM in Yugoslavia, the state remained ambiguous towards NCFM (disliking it, but tolerating it because it was popular and it generated tax money), there were two key moments at which notions of identity implicit in discussions of NCFM became clear. These moments were during the ‘Kitsch Tax’ debate in the seventies and during the ‘orientalisation’ debate over the band Southern Wind in the eighties. NCFM was discussed through the frame of cultural values (kitsch) or ethnic identity (orientalisation) that became key points around which collective identity was articulated. The meaning of NCFM emerged in the interplay between conceptions of taste and cultural identity translated into series of oppositions: cosmopolitan–primitive, rural–urban and European–Balkan. This interplay between notions of cultural taste also included the creation of the rift between folk and rock as two key axes of sociocultural identity, encapsulated in the (still present) question, ‘what music do you listen to?’. In Yugoslavia, enjoying a particular song or performer ‘is not a culturally inconsequential choice; it is an indication of musical preference that is tied to cultural affinity and one’s own 16 TURBO-FOLK MUSIC AND NAtIONAL IDENtItY IN FORmER YUgOSLAvIA sociocultural identity’.15 In this respect, during the 1980s, one of key cultural lines of demarcation in Yugoslavia was carved out between the urban, cosmopolitan rock, punk and ‘new wave’ audience and the NCFM audience (and the middle- ground consumers of ‘zabavna’ music). This division also marked the sociocultural identity between the folk audience as generally from lower or working class families with limited educations, and the rock/punk/new wave audience that was perceived as the culturally sophisticated middle class. It is ironic to note that the majority of the rock/punk musicians in Yugoslavia were army children, which meant they were privileged and thus their adoption of the rock rebellion meant something entirely different from their Western counterparts. In this context, Ivan Čolović published the first theoretical account of NCFM, entitled Wild Literature (Divlja Književnost).16 Drawing on the French poststructuralist understanding of the symbolic structure of literature (namely, Bourdieu’s account of class expressed through taste and postcolonial political theory), Čolović articulates NCFM as the perspective of marginal identities. On the one hand, Čolović demonstrates that the stylistic experimentation, transformation and departure from the ‘ideal’ of folklore in NCFM was often perceived from the top as a form of cultural degeneration.17 On the other hand, he argues that the majority of NCFM performers came from poor and underprivileged backgrounds with limited access to education. Čolović shows that the perceived aesthetic inferiority of NCFM is expressive of a sociocultural differentiation between the working class and the cultural intelligentsia in Yugoslavia.18 As became apparent in the following decade, the elitist conception of culture that underpins this understanding of the NCFM reflected a broader set of cultural distinctions that only became more pronounced.

1990s: Critique of Brainless Nationalism

The appearance of turbo-folk in the early nineties caused something of a shock in public and academic circles, which contributed to the perception that it was uniquely Serbian music. The perception of turbo-folk as endemic to Serbia was largely amplified by the cultural isolation of Serbia due to the international sanctions. From the outset, turbo-folk was attacked as a social malady, which led to public calls by Serbian politicians to limit exposure to this culturally toxic music. Despite this, amendments to laws in Serbia ended the state monopoly on television broadcasting, thus helping to launch private television stations, such as Palma TV and Pink TV, both of which were dedicated almost exclusively to showing turbo-folk. The remainder of the broadcasting schedule was filled with pirated

15 Rasmussen, “From Source to Commodity”, 251. 16 Ivan Čolović, Divlja Književnost: Etnolingvističko Proučavanje Paraliterature (Belgrade: Nolit, 1985). 17 Ibid., p. 149. 18 Ibid., p. 147. INtRODUCtION 17

Hollywood movies, cheap soap operas, fortune tellers and pornography. This provided a context for the reception of turbo-folk videos – which, in many cases, stylistically mirrored these television shows – that hinged on sexuality, escapism and hedonism. Pink TV also established a music recording and publishing house, , that was staffed with experienced music producers and state-of- the-art recording technology, thereby ensuring the high quality and high volume of musical output. The hyper-production of turbo-folk and its association with privately owned enterprises highlighted it as the main cultural form for the nouveaux riches in Serbia. The first published academic critique of turbo-folk was written by Milena Dragičević-Šešić in 1994. Dragičević-Šešić draws on the connections between the music and the criminalisation and militant nationalism in Serbia.19 Emphasising the identity politics at play in the lyrics and aesthetics, Dragičević-Šešić suggests that turbo-folk provided a form of escapism built on kitsch, nationalism, retrograde patriarchy, traditionalism and cultural provincial backwardness. This study established in many ways the critical paradigm for understanding turbo-folk not just as music, but as a broader cultural construct, reflective of the nationalist and criminal pathologies of the nineties. The dominance of this view of turbo-folk became obvious when, in 1994, the Serbian state – seeking to distance itself from overt nationalist politics – turned against turbo-folk. The year 1995 was announced as the ‘Year of Culture’. This state campaign involved purging turbo-folk from all state television channels. As Chapter 3 will show, the state’s turn against turbo- folk had the effect of distancing it from Milošević and increasing its popularity. Two other studies appeared in the nineties and largely reproduced the view of turbo-folk advanced by Dragičević-Šešić. In 1999, Eric Gordy published The Culture of Power, a sociological study of Serbia under Milošević. Gordy argues that turbo-folk was enabled by the orchestrated destruction of cultural and social alternatives (such as ), thereby effectively rendering turbo-folk the official soundtrack to Milošević’s Serbia.20 Gordy’s study draws sharp distinctions between the rock and turbo audience, arguing that they occupied entirely different social spheres. In 2000, Ivana Kronja published The Lethal Glow, which made a similar argument.21 While Kronja emphasises that turbo-folk was a synthesis of a multitude of styles (including rock, punk and new wave), she claims that this was done in the service of destroying traditional moral and ethical values. In many ways, these studies – despite their highly localised character – reflect the theoretical emphasis on identity politics that dominated academic humanities in the nineties. Analyses of turbo-folk have focused on articulating the way it

19 Milena Dragičević-Šešić, Kultura Publika i Njene Zvezde (Novi Sad: Izdavačka Knjižarnica Zorana Stojanovića, 1994). 20 Gordy, The Culture of Power. 21 Ivana Kronja, The Fatal Glow: Mass Psychology and the Aesthetics of Turbo Sculpture (Belgrade: Tehnokratia, 2001). 18 TURBO-FOLK MUSIC AND NAtIONAL IDENtItY IN FORmER YUgOSLAvIA represented a narrativisation of experiences, some based on gender codes and others centred on national identity.

2000s: ‘Cultural Decontamination’ and ‘Cultural Racism’

The year 2000 brought massive political changes to the region. Croatian nationalist President Franjo Tuđman died and Milošević was deposed from power, creating a space for new relations between the former Yugoslav republics. As part of these changes, it was widely expected that turbo-folk would vanish as the primary cultural signifier of the pathologies from the nineties. In Serbia, the state once again moved to marginalise turbo-folk from being broadcast on all channels. Pink TV became the most public target, and it was forced to substantially alter its programme to exclude turbo-folk. Despite this, not only did turbo-folk not disappear, it actually increased in popularity in the wider region including Croatia, Bosnia and Slovenia. The geographic and cultural spread of turbo-folk is crucial in understanding its present position. The newly visible transnationality of turbo-folk brings into question earlier interpretations that highlighted nationalism. New accounts of turbo- folk have emerged that attempt to articulate the music as an expression of a broader ethos. These accounts have largely followed the theoretical post-9/11 swing towards anti-capitalist globalism. In his book, Dictatorship, Nation, Globalisation, Miša Đurković advanced Gordy’s thesis that turbo-folk emerged in the void created by the withdrawal of state support for pop and rock music, and by the deregulation of the entertainment industry.22 Đurković articulates the class subtext in many of these debates, arguing that the ‘cosmopolitan socialist elite’ despised the culture of the working class and peasants. However, he adds that turbo-folk emerged as an important cultural reaction in response to globalisation and the dilution of national cultures. Journalist Zoran Cirjaković also draws attention to the fact that turbo-folk is not unique to Serbia, but is a form of cultural syncretism that should be seen as part of global world music that has been developing for over a decade.23 Art historian Branislav Dimitrijević articulates the term ‘cultural racism’ to describe the systemic cultural elitism and hatred towards turbo-folk as synonymous with all the pathologies of the nineties.24 Dimitrijević argues that cultural racism towards turbo-folk is an extension of discrimination against larger social groups (such as the working class) that are represented through turbo-folk. He also argues in support of the subversive potential of turbo-folk to question the culture and

22 Misa Đurković, “Ideološki i Politički Sukobi oko Popularne Muzike u Srbiji”, Filozofija i Društvo25 (2004): 271–84. 23 Zoran Cirjaković, “Majka Druge Srbije”, Nova Srpska Politička Misao, accessed 11 September 2012, http://starisajt.nspm.rs/PrenetiTekstovi/2006_cirj_latinka1.htm. 24 Branislav Dimitrijević, “Global Turbo-folk”, NIN 2686 (20 June 2002), accessed 20 September 2012, http://www.nin.co.rs/2002-06/20/23770.html. Translation accessed 18 November 2011, http://www.ex-yupress.com/nin/nin139.html. INtRODUCtION 19 moral codes of societies. In particular, he is interested in the way that artist Milica Tomic’s introduction of turbo-folk into ‘high art’, discussed in Chapter 3, brings these distinctions into question.25 In the wake of the widening theoretical understanding of turbo-folk, the decade since 2000 has witnessed the emergence of a new wave of interest in the subject. International conferences on post-Yugoslav social and cultural spaces now routinely include panels on the role of popular and folk music, and several postgraduate research projects have been written about turbo-folk. There have been new studies that address representations of femininity, masculinity and queer identities in turbo-folk.26 The departure point for these projects is a feminist remapping of representations of sexuality and gender in turbo-folk as signalling the possibility for emancipatory politics. Regarding sexuality, it is suggested that the aesthetics of exaggeration in turbo folk, as well as its appropriation of marginal styles, present an opportunity to read performer and audience identities as being performed outside heteronormativity.27 This approach, derived from Judith Butler’s work on gender and sexuality as performance, also suggests that gender roles of turbo-folk female performers destabilise the limits of Serb-Orthodox nationalism by consciously drawing on and performing queer aesthetics.28 This new embrace of turbo-folk aesthetics as the vehicle for expressing progressive sexual and gender politics is part of a broader shift that seeks to re-evaluate the legacy of the turbulent nineties in the region, and in particular the position of turbo-folk as the antithesis of progressive politics. While these are important expansions of the critical literature, here, the focus is less on the political turf war about the meaning of turbo-folk than on the way the contours of the debates have shifted over time, and the way in which they help explain the uptake of turbo-folk in different cultural fields.

The Cultural History of Turbo-Folk

What is severely lacking in the existing accounts of turbo-folk is an explanation of the influence of turbo-folk on the broader social field. In addition to becoming an ideological buzz term, in the last two decades, turbo-folk has become a descriptor

25 Branislav Dimitrijević, “Performans Milice Tomić: Ovo je Savremena Umetnost”, Vreme 546 (21 June 2001), accessed 10 October 2012, http://www.vreme.com/cms/view. php?id=290487. 26 For example see Ana Hofman, “Kafana Singers: Popular Music, Gender and Subjectivity in the Cultural Space of Socialist Yugoslavia”, Narodna Umjetnost: Croatian Journal of Ethnology and Folklore Research 47/1 (2010); and Marijana Mitrović, “The ‘Unbearable Lightness’ (of the Subversion) of Nationalism: Bodies on Estrada in Postsocialist Serbia”, Institute of Ethnography SASA, Belgrade 59/2 (2011). 27 See Dimitrijević, “Performans Milice Tomić”. 28 See Mitrović, “The ‘Unbearable Lightness’”. 20 TURBO-FOLK MUSIC AND NAtIONAL IDENtItY IN FORmER YUgOSLAvIA for a range of phenomena. One frequently finds references to turbo-art and turbo-architecture that often have little explanation of what is intended with this labelling. This ambiguity has meant that the term ‘turbo-folk’ can have a range of meanings, including parody (it was coined by jazz Rambo Amadeus as a parody of folk in Yugoslavia), derision (it is used as a negative label that suggests backwardness, rural primitivism and nationalism) and value judgement (it suggests kitsch, the nouveau riche and generally low culture). However, it can also refer to intentional self-exoticisation as a marker of imagined Balkan temperament and mentality, with a spontaneity, passion and emotion that contrasts to the anaemic and lifeless West. It is precisely the representational and conceptual fluidity of turbo-folk that allows it to be framed as a cultural mediator. Catherine Baker acknowledges this by suggesting that turbo-folk should be understood as a conceptual category, rather than a stylistic description of music.29 Eric Gordy similarly highlights that turbo-folk is not an ‘aesthetic’ category, but a construction derived from other basic social oppositions.30 Even earlier, Ivan Čolović’s study from the eighties articulated NCFM not in musical terms, but through the process of transforming a perceived ideal form of folk that was ‘degenerated’ through experimentation.31 The title of this book is a reference to turbo-folk as a political and cultural mediator. Following Fredric Jameson and Žižek, here, I take a mediator to be an agent of historical transition that creates the conditions for change. As Chapter 2 will show, in some instances, the mediator vanishes or drops off once the change takes place. However, as Chapters 4 and 5 will show, in some instances, the mediator remains in various cultural forms after the change. Thus, as Žižek points out, crucial to this understanding of the mediator is the gap between form and content, in which content can change within the parameters of the existing form and then emancipate itself of the old form, to reveal a new one. Both ‘turbo’ and ‘folk’ can be understood as terms that describe the intersection of political and cultural mediation in turbo-folk. Turbo-folk does not just formally reflect or symbolise politics in the region; nor does it dictate the cultural content that is consumed. It becomes tangled in politics and it is taken up in other cultural fields in ways that make it possible to conceive of turbo-folk as a form of discourse about identity in ex-Yugoslavia. As a political and cultural mediator of national identity, turbo-folk demonstrates how, in ex-Yugoslavia, popular music was the stage on which collective identity was forged and the premise on which national differences were constructed. It remains as one of the only examples of shared popular culture in the region.

29 Catherine Baker, “The Concept of Turbofolk in Croatia: Inclusion/Exclusion in the Construction of National Musical Identity”, in Nation in Formation: Inclusion and Exclusion in Central and , edited by Catherine Baker et al. (London: SSEES, 2007), p. 139. 30 Gordy, The Culture of Power, pp. 135–6. 31 Čolović, Divlja Književnost, p. 148. INtRODUCtION 21

Hence, turbo-folk as a political mediator describes the process through which socialist discussions of NCFM, cultural taste and kitsch in Yugoslavia are absorbed and appropriated into the nationalist rhetoric about turbo-folk and identity. It also describes the process through which the nationalist pathology of turbo-folk was historicised in the nineties, while preserving the emotionally charged attachment to its expression of identity. Turbo-folk as a political mediator is addressed in Part I: ‘Turbo-nation’. The first two chapters discuss the shifting representations of national identity in ex-Yugoslavia between 1970 and 2010. However, turbo-folk as a cultural mediator helps explain the way the leftovers of culture – whether the shared socialist culture or the isolationist nationalist culture – remain in the social field and are taken up by various other cultural forms. Turbo-folk as a cultural mediator is addressed in Part II: ‘Turbo-culture’, which addresses the cultural responses to turbo-folk through art, public sculpture, architecture and film. An answer should be sought in terms of cultural theory and visual culture. While other authors have investigated the social context and theoretical consequences of turbo-folk, they fail to account for it seeping into other cultural forms. This book argues that this form of mediation of cultural memory and history is crucial for understanding the forms of culture that have emerged in the wake of Yugoslavia.32 In this sense, Turbo-folk Music and Cultural Representations of National Identity in Former Yugoslavia is less of a history than a case study of how turbo-folk works in other cultural fields: art, sculpture, architecture and film. In terms of its methodology, this book operates at the intersection of several disciplines: cultural musicology, philosophy, critical theory and art history. It employs theoretical terminology from these fields that bears explaining here. Earlier in this chapter, I outlined the way in which I use Žižek’s theoretical terms such as ‘enjoyment’ and ‘vanishing mediator’. We can qualify this further by saying that Žižek’s terms often employ (and often very creatively) concepts steeped in Hegelian dialectics. This conceptual gesture involves turning problems ‘on their head’ to reveal a previously obfuscated meaning. Notably, it includes suggesting that something considered an obstacle to development (such as the common perception that ‘turbo-folk is the antithesis of progress in the Balkans’) is in fact the condition that makes that development possible (the perception of turbo- folk as the antithesis of progress is what gives the idea of progress meaning). For example, this includes the idea that history happens twice, first time as a tragedy and second as a farce, a notion that is repeatedly raised in this book. However there are ancillary theoretical terms that frame my approach to the effects of globalisation and neoliberalism in the Balkans. In most cases, the way in which this book uses particular theoretical terminology is in responses to the way in which it has been used in the existing literature. Thus, it is crucial to remember that when theoretically discussing turbo-folk what is at stake is not just what term is being used, but also the way that term has been imported from a global (largely

32 For an example, see the collection of essays: Daniel Šuber and Slobodan Karamanić, eds, Retracing Images: Visual Culture after Yugoslavia (Leiden and Boston: Brill, 2012). 22 TURBO-FOLK MUSIC AND NAtIONAL IDENtItY IN FORmER YUgOSLAvIA

Western) context and transposed into a local context. This is especially important when considering the long history of ‘the Balkans’ in the imagination of ‘the West’. In an important sense, Žižek’s success in explaining the rise of nationalism as inherent to ‘the birth of democracy’ in the Balkans is partly due to the way he applied a combination of Hegelian dialectic reversal with Lacan’s psychoanalysis. In this regard, several terms that are employed in this book are appropriations of existing terminology. One of the key terms that I employ in Chapter 2 is ‘new Balkanness’. This term refers to a phenomenon that has been taking place for over a decade and describes the process of appropriating the idea of ‘Balkan’ as an empowering gesture. There is a long history of thinking about the idea of ‘Balkan’ as the ‘Orient of Europe’. Balkan is seen as the gateway to the Orient, and a place where there is evidence of backwardness, corruption and primitivism that is associated with the mythology of the ‘Orient’. Maria Todorova has written at length about the way in which modernist European writers have constructed the mythical place of ‘Balkan’ with negative associations. There are almost an equal number of contemporary work that construct this mythical place of the Balkans, the most recent example being Angelina Jolie’s n the Land of Blood and Honey (2011). However, with the onset of globalisation and the inevitable destabilising of identities, alongside the destruction of the social support nexus and the fragmentation of the social sphere, the idea of ‘Balkan’ has gained new currency in self-perceptions within the region. Across the region of former Yugoslavia (and wider), there has been an increasing amount of cultural output that posits ‘Balkan’ as an empowering symbol of resistance to the perceived cold and rational . Furthermore, as traditional workers’ rights are being taken away and people are increasingly pushed to the existential brink, Balkan has become synonymous with precarity. The unemployed are turning to the notion of ‘we are down, but we can party like no one else’. What I call ‘new Balkanness’ refers to this perception of the passionate Balkans standing in opposition to the cold hegemony of the EU and the neoliberal global order. This idea of Balkan as a place of the perpetual carnival – problematically adopted by Emir Kusturica – has been picked up in receptions of turbo-folk, but also in other forms of music. Hugely popular Bosnian band Dubioza Kolektiv is the best example of a progressive left-leaning band that speaks for the disenfranchised but passionate Balkan. While ‘new Balkanness’ is a term framed through explicit East–West/ global–local power relations, other terms used in this book are more specifically positioned within particular fields of study. I use terms such as kitsch, performance and the readymade, all of which traditionally belong to art history and speak about the ongoing divide between aesthetic pursuits and everyday life. These terms speak to the long and complex relation of art to everyday life, marked by desires to distinguish between true and false culture. On the one hand, artists have long sought to collapse art into the energy and naturalness of ‘ordinary people’ and ‘everyday life’ and to integrate art into life’s everyday spontaneity and reality. Marcel Duchamp’s readymade is the clearest example of this. Yet on the other INtRODUCtION 23 hand, these engagements have been marked by a fear of the contagion of commerce and the debased values of the market. This anxiety has created an insistence upon the distinction between the engagement with the unique, personal and significant object and the mass-produced object that is merely consumed (kitsch). However, to work effectively, this book moves between these fields, maintaining that all disciplinary divisions are arbitrary and porous. There is a lot of overlap between the spheres that I will consider, particularly in their relationship with socialist popular culture. For instance, the influence of Western film in Yugoslavia is evident in all three areas, and appears in various places. I have intentionally retained this ambiguity to highlight the interconnected and overlapping nature of the phenomenon. It is important to note the interconnectedness of the spheres of influence of popular culture in these three fields. For instance, I will show how the popularity of Western film played a key role in the formation of the so-called ‘turbo-sculpture’, and how the popular culture of the West became symbolically synonymous with the Western culture that was available to the population under socialism. However, Western popular culture (film and music in particular) also play a crucial role in the filmic language of Srđan Dragojević, as well as the artistic interventions of artists across the region that deal with the legacies of the nineties. This overlap is also acknowledged in the Economic Propaganda Program (EPP) sections in each chapter. Referencing the ideologically loaded name for advertising breaks on Yugoslav state television, these are intended to complement the larger text, providing a historical and theoretical context for the discussion. They are also intended to mirror the introduction of the commercialised media vocabulary in Yugoslavia that accompanied the rise of turbo-folk.

Book Outline

The first part of this book addresses the changing conceptions of turbo-folk since 1970. The first part of this history emphasises that modes of consumption, the use of cultural symbolism, and key cultural debates came to dominate discussions of turbo-folk and were continuations of the cultural sphere under Yugoslav socialism in the eighties. Chapter 1 locates the cultural and political position of NCFM – the precedent for turbo-folk – within the social, economic and political changes that occurred with the introduction of Yugoslav ‘self-management’ socialism (1950–1987). Self-management introduced a shift to a market-based economy, which enabled the growth of the entertainment industry and development of popular culture in Yugoslavia. However, because of the idiosyncratic economic, political and cultural position of Yugoslavia, the popular culture that developed also had a distinctive and peculiar character. As Chapter 1 shows, these peculiarities of popular culture were never reconciled and the perception of NCFM demonstrates how they were translated into a series of oppositions: cosmopolitan–primitive, rural–urban and European–Balkan. Importantly, these distinctions were not based 24 TURBO-FOLK MUSIC AND NAtIONAL IDENtItY IN FORmER YUgOSLAvIA on musical differences, but were purely cultural constructs born out of specific sociocultural circumstances. By tracing the relations of the Yugoslav state to NCFM, it can be argued that NCFM occupied an ambiguous place within this system. This ambiguity enabled the growth and flourishing of the , while also ensuring that the music remained at the margins of the official system of values. At particular moments of ‘socialist development’ – in the seventies and eighties – NCFM was discussed through the frame of cultural values (the charge of music as harmful kitsch in the ‘Kitsch Tax’) and ethnic identity (in the orientalisation debates that surrounded the recording group Southern Wind). These highly charged ideological frames became key points around which collective identity was articulated. The cultural signifiers of ‘kitsch’ and ‘oriental’ that were attached to the music were not only crucial in the formation of cultural self-perception in Yugoslavia, but continue to inform debates about NCFM and turbo-folk in the present. The first part of this history provides a broad outline of the nineties and beyond. The emphasis is less centred on history than it is on the historical shift of turbo-folk as a mode of representing national identity. Using Žižek’s articulation of the vanishing mediator, I discuss the way in which turbo-folk has moved from nationalism to anti-neoliberalism. Chapter 2 shows how the representation of Serb nationalism through turbo- folk transformed into ‘new Balkanness’. I outline the three main phases of Serbian nationalism, symbolised in songs from each phase, and discuss the changing public personality of the biggest and most controversial turbo-folk star, Svetlana Ražnatović, more commonly known by her stage name ‘Ceca’. Using the concept of the vanishing mediator, this chapter will also discuss how the representation of Serb nationalism through turbo-folk transformed into what I call ‘new Balkanness’ regionalism: a self-exoticising, transnational anti-neoliberalism. The vanishing mediator describes the process through which the nationalist pathology of turbo-folk is historicised into the nineties, while preserving the emotionally charged attachment to its expression of identity. Turbo-folk thus provides a broader framework for thinking through the changing meaning of cultural nationalism as a symbol of resistance to globalisation. The ability of turbo-folk to shift from a performance of nationalism to transnational anti-neoliberalism reveals how such transformations are often accompanied by the promotion of amnesia towards the (recent) past. Chapter 3 examines the way turbo-folk exists as a genre in Slovenia, Croatia and Bosnia and . This chapter also examines the reception of turbo- folk in Australia as a case study of audience perception and national identification outside the Balkans. In an important sense, stylistic or lyrical differences between turbo-folk in Serbia, , Croatia and Slovenia are virtually non-existent. In all cases, the performers follow the same basic formula of fusing elements of folk sound – usually through an instrument that functions as a signifier of folklore and of national identity – with the ‘base’ of electronic dance pop. Where they exist, the differences operate at the level of micro-identity politics discernible only to local audiences: through the use of a specific instrument or through the INtRODUCtION 25 use of particular linguistic expressions. Taking these musical micro-politics as its departure point, this chapter analyses Croatian and Slovene ‘homebrand’ turbo- folk. It shows that the main way to distinguish between turbo-folk in Serbia from Croatia and Slovenia is the performers’ attitude towards the representations of national identity through the music. In both Croatia and Slovenia, there is an ironic distance towards symbols associated with national identity. This kind of ironic attitude towards symbols of national identity does not exist in turbo-folk performers from Serbia. Taking Ceca as an example, this chapter raises how it is impossible to imagine Serbian turbo-folk performers playing with codes of Serb nationhood. This analysis shows the currency of passion and emotion as crucial for understanding Ceca’s popularity outside Serbia. Despite the existence of local turbo-folk in Croatia and Slovenia, and in spite of the stigma attached to Ceca’s image and public personality, she continues to be considered the undisputed diva of turbo-folk. This is because, in contrast to the critical and ironic attitude of Croatian and Slovenian turbo-folk performers, Ceca’s music evokes extreme affective states that suggest she is more sincere about her music. The second part of the book analyses the way turbo-folk has been taken up in the broader cultural sphere. Chapter 4 discusses the work of artists from Kosovo, Serbia and Macedonia that use turbo-folk as a signifier to critically engage with the construction of ‘Balkan’ identity from a global perspective. I argue that these artists use turbo-folk to upturn cultural expectations and carve out critical positions for their practice on an international circuit. This tactical engagement results from the artists’ intentional use of the most politically loaded cultural ‘brand’ of turbo-folk, known for its connections to expressions of nationalism and perceptions of the primitive ‘Balkan ghost’. These artists use popular music to intentionally play into the perception of post-communist societies’ ‘slavish’ embrace of pro-Western popular culture (as an expression of democracy), platitudes about the violent and exotic Balkans, and perceptions of art as a form of ‘national representation’. Within this understanding, the strategy of artists such as Zoran Naskovski, Milica Tomić, Nada Prlja, Lulzim Zequiri and Erzen Shkololli demonstrates a critical awareness of the specific and highly complex position of popular music in the history of Yugoslavia and its successor states. This awareness is drawn from the potency of music as a shared culture under socialism, as an expression of nationalism in the nineties, and as a form of post-nationalist national branding through culture in the new century. Chapter 5 examines the relationship between popular culture and historical remembering through the phenomenon of the ‘turbo-sculpture’ of popular culture icons, such as Bruce Lee, Rocky Balboa and Bob Marley, that have appeared in Bosnia, Serbia and Croatia. I argue that these statues of commercial ‘Western’ popular icons mediate aesthetic and structural legacies of socialism in Yugoslavia. The Bruce Lee statue and other similar public statues that emerged across ex-Yugoslavia in its wake suggest a relationship to historical remembering that is more akin to the role of public art and popular culture in socialist Yugoslavia. While these statues might be 26 TURBO-FOLK MUSIC AND NAtIONAL IDENtItY IN FORmER YUgOSLAvIA considered atavistic and even Yugo-nostalgic gestures, they might also be considered an evocation of memories of socialism mediated through popular culture. Chapter 6 examines the representation of turbo-folk in Srđan Dragojević’s films Pretty Villages, Pretty Flames (1996), Wounds (1998) and The Parade (2011). By closely examining these films, I argue that onscreen turbo-folk shifts from a symbol of stolen enjoyment in Pretty Villages, to a symbol of pathological nationalism in the nineties in Wounds, to a regional fear of globalisation in The Parade. Pretty Villages positions music as the centre of the struggle over the ownership of the cultural legacy and memory of the shared space of Yugoslavia. In Wounds, enjoyment of turbo-folk is constructed as something that is inaccessible to all ‘Others’ but the Serbs, and is also threatened by those ‘Others’. Yet, Wounds also insists that the imagined threat to Serbs’ enjoyment is the consequence of the pathologies of the nineties. The Parade completes this cycle by reversing the enjoyment of turbo-folk into shared transnational enjoyment. The Parade represents turbo-folk as ‘reverse nationalism’ that constitutes itself as stolen by an external enemy represented through globalisation. This trajectory of turbo-folk in Dragojević’s films follows the changes in broader conceptions of the music, outlined in Chapter 2, and adds another layer to the history of the shifting position of turbo-folk within the broad post-socialist culture of ex-Yugoslavia. Building on the insights from previous chapters about the gradual ‘de-nationalisation’ of turbo-folk, this chapter demonstrates the way Dragojević invokes the emotionally charged expression of identity in turbo-folk as a signifier of ‘new Balkanness’. By elucidating the way that turbo-folk music has been taken up in art, sculpture and film, Turbo-folk Music and Cultural Representations of National Identity in Former Yugoslavia provides a more nuanced reading of the often misunderstood, misrepresented and sensationalised ‘turbo-culture’ that has been developing in the Balkans in recent decades. This reading acknowledges that there are aspects of the ever-growing and enduring popularity of turbo-folk that require attention; however, to understand these issues only through the notions of taste, mindless consumerism or nationalism is to overlook how they provide important insight into the current political, cultural and social context. Turbo-folk helps better understand the Balkan societies in transition and presents an important framework through which to examine Europe in general. If the Balkans have always been perceived as the ‘weird cousin’ of Europe, caught in an inescapable deadlock of history and identity, then the cultural products of that deadlock – such as turbo-folk – may shed light on contemporary Europe, which is itself going through a major identity crisis. The current fragmentations of the Eurozone, coupled with the effects of a world recession, have returned to public discussions about both national rhetoric and ‘historical’ nationalist resentments. As European economies crumble and entire societies are reduced to mass unemployment and poverty, various forms of right-wing anti-capitalist populisms are on the rise across Europe. As the European right-wing parties harness populist identity politics as their core message, there is a vital lesson to be found in the popularity of turbo-folk. Bibliography

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