CLIP AND THE TURBO FOLK GENERATION

"I did not invent turbo folk. I simply named it," in his 2005 song called "Turbo Folk" says Rambo Amadeus, jazz-rock and avant-garde composer based in Belgrade, Serbia, who is often considered as the father of the genre. When thinking about this statement, we actually find ourselves in the middle of an intensive debate in the Balkans. Was turbo folk phenomena consciously created, promoted and exploited by the regime of Slobodan Milošević, i. e. by the cultural and economical elites close to him, in order to establish an escapist soundtrack to cover the wars and robberies of the 1990s? Or was it simply an expression of cultural taste and desires of the masses that could finally have its moment of pathos, after the state-controlled culture fell apart with Eastern European socialism in 1989?

 Most probably – it was both. As almost every other mass culture phenomena, turbo folk has its regressive and exploitative side, but liberating and subversive one as well. We can see how in Maja Miloš’ film CLIP (2012) Serbian kids embrace the dominant mainstream music genre in the Balkans and its sang models of behavior (promiscuity, alcohol, exhibitionism, violence, kitsch), while at the same time making it a liberating experience for their bodies, a paradigm that enhances their sex and enjoyment, their independence, and, after all, annihilates the misery of their poverty and the dictate of “socially reasonable” conformism. That said, we can certainly debate whether Maja Miloš is true to the real situation and honest in her worried approach, or whether she is exploitative and unfair when she presents the working class Serbian kids as peculiar population with uncontrollable hedonistic zeal: they do everything that bourgeois class wants to do (filmmakers in Serbia usually fall under this higher class), but has good moral and education that prevents it from doing? Therefore, bourgeois filmmakers can envy these ‘other’, working-class turbo folk kids, for having the opportunity to set themselves on fire.

This complex set of questions is also at the center of the turbo folk ambivalence, and it is perfectly visible in the careers of the turbo folk parents – Rambo Amadeus and Marina Tucaković. A little bit of context: during the period when Serbia was a part of the socialist Yugoslavia (1945-1991), all broadcasting companies were publicly owned. Therefore, culture in general was developed with an enlightened aim to educate the masses, which meant it was mostly a compromise between high- and lowbrow culture, shaped by the editors and editorial boards. Although SFR Yugoslavia had a sort of market socialism, at the end of the 1980s and the beginning of the 1990s even more free market came: private music production and broadcasting companies, discotheques and clubs, right-wing populism and nationalism in the political sphere… “I was listening to the radio then,” once said Rambo Amadeus in an interview, “and 90 percent of the stations were playing some terrible folk music. The lyrics were stupid, the music simplified. So I decided to experiment with this folk market boom and make some folk songs that were even more stupid. I sold them to some of the emerging folk performers and waited to see what would happen.” This experiment wasn’t something Amadeus had never tried before: in the early and mid-1980s, he was mocking the folk music by taking its worst lyrical banality and typical melodies and adding to it gothic rock style, hard rock riffs, funky and disco rhythms, etc. 

At the same time, the most prominent Serbian pop rock lyricist Marina Tucaković was also making folk parodies while living on the safe side of avant-garde pop band she was a part of. Marina and Rambo were probably counting on the idea that, in the still-socialist Yugoslav 1980s, they had an educated urban audience that would understand those obvious examples of camp, of playful postmodernist approach towards the kitschy substance of folk they actually despised. 

But free market has no understanding for subtle aesthetical questions, although it is very good in irony. The 1990s came, the society in the Balkans became confusing, and Marina Tucaković and Rambo Amadeus soon became known as the mother and father of turbo-folk: they wrote some of the biggest hits of the genre and collaborated with numerous folk stars who sold hundreds of thousands of their silly folk songs that mixed completely foolish lyrics with oriental melodies, disco, techno and funky. Evergreen music, traditional folk, pop and rock, all saw their demise from once dominant, promoted and respected genres. So in order to make money, other disappointed rockers followed Amadeus and Tucaković examples, taking the turbo-folk extravagance to an unimaginable degree. It was life during wartime and everything could be sold: heavy metal riffs in the middle of an otherwise typical Balkan-style folk song about love; hip-hop and accordion; euro-dance groove under the scenes of rural life; AC/DC introduction to “Thunderstruck” slightly deformed to fit the recognizable melodic decorations of the traditional Balkan singing… Music videos were filled with bright colors, eroticism of all sorts, fires, horses and tigers, expensive cars and expressionist-style shots… (Well, you’ve seen the videos of Rihanna, 50 Cent, Beyonce, Lady Gaga, Britney Spears, Shakira… Imagine a cheap, low-fi version of it, and you’ll get the picture.) One of the prominent Belgrade costume designer said she would put a typical homosexual iconography in a video just to see where is the line she would be warned not to overstep – there wasn't any. These guys were buying everything and had no criteria – as long as it is colorful.

To this day, not much has changed in terms of style. But the two things did evolve: the economic impact of turbo folk and the attitude of cultural elites towards it. Nowadays, turbo folk is probably the best Serbian exported good, it is popular in all ex-Yugoslav states, as well as in Bulgaria and Albania – who all, of course, besides Serbian, have their own turbo folk stars. Performers earn a lot of money by touring not only Balkan states, but singing at the discotheques for the Balkan immigrants in Western Europe, USA, Canada and Australia. There is a TV-channel that plays exclusively turbo folk videos (of course, it has ‘Balkan’ in its name). Turbo folk CDs and DVDs are sold on every gas-station from Slovenia to Greece and Turkey. It connects Balkan nations extremely well, in spite of the fact that most of them have a strong nationalist sentiment and officially don't like each other. An although an article on the phenomena you’ll find on Wikipedia is basically right when it describes the right-wing and left-wing critique of the genre, it seems that many Balkan leftist today defend turbo folk for the same reason conservatives attack it. There is an emerging leftist theoretical scene that sees turbo folk as grass root style and emphasizes its subversive sides: attack on patriarchal values, support for independent women, anarchic hedonist desires, sexually liberal views (including LGBT themes and characters in songs and videos)… On the other hand, it is still a type of the mass culture par excellence and, therefore, very often the proponent of the dominant patriarchal and capitalist ideology, only sometimes covered in ‘liberal’ sheets. 

Because this ambivalence is at the core of turbo folk, the fact that main characters of Maja Miloš' film are so deeply involved with it makes their complete social habitus raise ethical and political questions that are not easy to answer. Are these kids the victims or are they a part of the problem? Do they accept or challenge the dominant ideology, and in what way? And if the bourgeois filmmakers also listen to turbo folk and embrace some of its values, why do they put the moralistic blame on working class? Yet, one thing is doubtless: these questions are relevant for the Balkans as they are relevant to any other place where you are inclined to think of the impact dominant values of the society and its mass culture have on adolescents. 

Ivan Velisavljević

FEST 2015: ŠTA VELISAVLJEVIĆ PREPORUČUJE NA NEVIĐENO?

Velisavljević Ivan poznat je kao doktor za rezime. Uža specijalnost: zapisnik, izveštaj, putopis.
U ovom trenutku o sebi priča u trećem licu.
Pošto je uveren da se ne možete snaći u programu beogradskog FEST-a, rezimiraće vam programske celine i preporučiti filmove koje uglavnom nije gledao, osim ako su snimljeni pre 50 i više godina.

Ovdena možete skinuti program u pedefu, da vidite kad je šta i gde: Raspored filmova FEST-a
Dolena kad kliknete na naziv filma otićete pravo u sajt FEST-a gde su detaljni opisi i hronotop projekcije, da ne kažem piše gde i u kolko sati puštaju film.

Znači, rezime, nema dalje.

Panorama
JOŠ UVEK ALIS / STILL ALICE, zbog glume (zašto Ameri glume invalide);
NOĆNE HRONIKE / NIGHTCRAWLER, zbog priče (krađa, snimak, ucena);
RITAM LUDILA / WHIPLASH, zbog muzike (lupa bubanj, Umka, Zvečka);

Glavni van konkurencije
ČOVEK PTICA / BIRDMAN, zbog snimatelja (Lubezki voli odjednom);
DŽIMIJEVA DVORANA, zbog režisera (Ken Louch voli radničku klasu);

Glavni takmičarski

PHOENIX / FENIKS, zbog motiva (logor, lice, Nemci glume invalide);
PREDSEDNIK, zbog teme (premijer, pardon, predsednik uzurpiro vlast);
NESHVAĆENA / INCOMPRESA, zbog rediteljke (slika sa sisama vredi hiljadu reči);

Asia Argento, neshvaćena rediteljka

Horizonti

PAZOLINI, zbog Pazolinija (marksista, katolik i homoseksualac, to se traži);

Thrills and kills

BLUE RUIN / PLAVA RUINA, zbog stila (ubi čoveka, reč nije reko);
A HARD DAY / TEŽAK DAN, zbog saspensa (napeto, ne seci nokte);

Granice (ovde) i Microwave (ovde)

Celokupni program, zbog koncepta (ma garaža neka, snimamo se i cepamo);

Srpski film (ovde)

Sve, zbog našeg naroda, jer što bi reko naš narod: kupujmo domaće (čarape i gaće);

Omaž Mileni Dravić

DEVOJKA, zbog Milene i Puriše, i ČOVEK NIJE TICA, zbog Makavejeva i Milene (dok je bilo Tita bilo je i filma, a neki ljudi su još tu);

Specijalne projekcije
OTAC NA SLUŽBENOM PUTU, zato što se za Kusturičino nasleđe vredi boriti protiv njega samog.

Dolena je i Velisavljevićev raspored za prijatelje i uhode, da znaju šta će gledati, kuda se kreće, i uopšte, ko će kome da izađe u susret. WikiLeaksa vam javlja.

REČI U VEČNOSTI

Članovi Satibare ubačeni su svuda... Mnogi čitaoci našeg bloga nisu ni svesni da je trenutno najveći jugoslovenski glumac, Siniša Jelovac, takođe i zdravstveni radnik. Pošto je u izjavi za TV Pančevo davno naglasio kako Satibara nastavlja svetlu tradiciju partizanske borbe, tzv. NOB-a, poslao je kratak zapis o tome, sliku poetizovane stvarnosti kakva nam nedostaje. Evo tog pisma...

na balkonu doma zdravlja mnogi od nas provode polusatnu pauzu. i lekari i mi tehničari i sav živalj... otkad su počeli iznimno sunčani dani, sve su učestalije sedeljke gore, na terasi, na vrhu ove ustanove zdravstvene.

lekarke sede oko stola okružene suncem, ponekad sednem sa njima, a češće šetam ili pričam sa čistačicama ili, već, samo ubijam pauzu.

i tako bacih pogled ka ulici, prometnoj, gde gradska vreva svoj pos'o radi. jednom, dvaput pogledah, i već sam u dilemi. s druge strane ulice ima neki spomenik, nekako jako blizu vreve, aktuelnog sveta, a sa druge strane, odbačen, sakriven. ko bi to mogao biti? možda mihajlo pupin, znam da su lenjinov bulevar tako nazvali? hm, mora da je on, pomislih.

i prođe dan, dva, zaboravih, uvek pogrešnom stranom semafora krenem.

ali danas ne pogreših. uputih se. pređoh preko zelene trave i videh istinu.

istinu koju niko ne gleda. istinu koja postoji a ne vidi se. onu koja brižljivo i bojažljivo spava iznad svih snova ovdašnjih ljudi. njihovih organa i njihovih disajnih puteva koje u skladu sa hipotalamusom čine sistem. i sa još mnogim karikama čine postojanje. trajanje.

ali ne i večnost.

večnost je nedokučiva za trajanje.
mnoge su stvari tihe.
i reči su tihe.
dve reči:
marko orešković.

Boris Buden on "Black Film": Film Art and Social Change

"The next day on the streets of Novi Sad he (Žilnik) used his camera to enquire about how to solve the problem of homeless people in the city. Neither the passers-by nor the officials have an answer to this question. The filmmaker himself doesn’t have it either, for ‘these stinky people’, as he calls them in the film, cannot stay in his flat forever. So, finally, after telling them that no solution to this problem has been found and that he is running out of tape, Žilnik asks those people to leave his home.

Again: what is black in this ‘Black Film’? The reality it depicts? The failure of communists to solve social problems? The notorious gap between a utopian promise and reality? No! It is the film itself, the very idea of art, especially film art, claiming power to change social reality – this is what is really black in Black Film. In fact it begins with the author saying to the camera: ‘I used to make these films two years ago, but such people [the homeless –B.B.] are still here.’ The film is a radically honest self-reflexive critique of the idea and practice of so-called socially engaged cinema. Žilnik openly considers Black Film being his own tomb. In a manifesto published on the occasion of the 1971 film festival where the film premiered, he calls the whole festival a ‘graveyard’. ‘Black’ here refers to the ‘misery of an abstract humanism’ and of the ‘socially engaged film that has become a ruling fashion in our bourgeois cinematography’; it refers to its false avant-gardism, social demagogy and left-wing phraseology; to its abuse of a socially declassed people for the purposes of film; to the filmmakers’ exploitation of social misery, etc. But, what is even more important, ‘black’ doesn’t refer at all to a ‘lack of freedom’, which is usually presented from today’s postcommunist perspective as the worst ‘blackness’ of the communist past. In the 1971 manifesto Žilnik explicitly states: ‘They left us our freedom, we were liberated, but ineffective.’ ‘Black’ refers to a chasm that no freedom can bridge, a chasm that will survive the fall of communism.

For Žilnik a film, and in a broader sense culture, however liberated from totalitarian oppression, will never provide a remedy for social misery. For him the emancipatory promise of culture is a bluff. In his mocking the authors of the socially engaged films from 1971 who search ‘for the most picturesque wretch that is prepared to convincingly suffer’, he already makes fun of the liberal inclusivism that twenty years later will impose its normative dogmatism on the cultural producers of the new (and old) democracies. We know that picture very well: one discovers somewhere on the fringes of society the victims of exclusion, those poor subaltern creatures with no face and no voice. But luckily there is an artist around to help them show their faces and make their voices heard. How nice: what bad society has excluded, good art can include again. For, as one believes, what has been socially marginalised can always be made culturally central, that is, brought to light – to the transparency of the public sphere – from the dark fringes of society. The rest is a democratic routine: a
benevolent civil society, sympathetic to the suffering of the poor and excluded, makes a political case of the social darkness; and as soon the party politics is involved, a political solution searched for and finally found, a low is changed, a democracy is reborn, now more inclusive than ever before."

Boris Buden, "Shoot it Black! An Introduction to Želimir Žilnik"
(Afterall, journal No. 25, autumn/winter 2010)

Proces pravljenja filma: Levi vs. Žilnik

Iako je Satibara praksom otišla dalje u razvoju ideje "labilnog filma" i ideološke važnosti procesa snimanja, ovaj pasus o Žilniku iz knjige Pavla Levija "Raspad Jugoslavije na filmu" i te kako je relevantan za poetiku Satibare:

"Film tematizuje upravo onu konceptualnu i strukturalnu dinamiku koja leži u osnovi Žilnikovog autorskog metoda, a koja se tiče težnje da se proces pravljenja filma, kao i sam filmski aparat, u potpunosti izjednače sa sferom prvostepene drištvene proizvodnje. U duhu Marksove jedanaeste Teze o Fojerbahu ("Filozofi su do sada interpretirali svet na različite načine; vreme je da ga se izmeni"), za Žilnikovu kinematografiju može se reći da doseže s onu stranu - ili, još bolje, ispod - nivoa audio-vizuelne reprezentacije: njen primarni značaj leži u samoj proizvodnoj delatnosti, preciznije, u radu i radnim odnosima od kojih se sastoji pravljenje jednog filma, a kojima Žilnik prostupa kao sebi dovoljnima, direktnim oblicima društvene intervencije. Za ovu vrstu kinematografije, čin snimanja u najmanju je ruku podjednako važan kao i (završen, kompletiran) film. Lišena statusa privilegovane kreativne delatnosti, filmska praksa je na taj način demistifikovana, a po učinku i značaju izjednačena s bilo kojom drugom vrstom rada. slično radikalnom političkom projektu čiju su realizaciju na sebe preuzeli protagonisti Ranih radova, na Žilnikove filmske projekte može se gledati kao na fragmente jedne hronike u nastajanju, koju za sobom ostavlja grupa radnika - reditelj, snimatelj, tonac, glumci - a koja oslikava njihovu ideološku svest i praktične napore da kvalitatitno utiču na različite tokove društveno-kulturne proizvodnje. Reč je, dakle, o filmovima koji dokumentuju vlastito nastajanje u procesima kolektivnog angažmana na planu 'čovekove smislene aktivnosti'."

(Pavle Levi, Raspad Jugoslavije na filmu, Beograd: XX vek, 2009, str. 56-57)