In Memory of Paco de Lucia

"The Last Station" (2009) by Michael Hoffman

Very interesting peek into literary giant's life and his lesser-known domestic troubles that completely lies on the shoulders of strong actors - it looks very much like stage drama but in fact it is adaptation from a novel. Director Michael Hoffman does his best to show off beautiful locations in Germany and Russia, however the main dialogues happens always indoors, so there is a certain "staginess" which in itself its not bad - specially since we have actors of this calibre.

Both Christopher Plummer and Helen Mirren were either awarded or nominated for awards on international film festivals for their roles of Leo Tolstoy and his wife Sofya, deservedly so: they completely bring back to life two people who lived, loved and fought for 48 years side by side, while creating some of the world's greatest novels together. Like probably for most of the people, their marriage was  full of happiness, laughter, frustrations and compromises - strong personalities who needed each other and the movie shows fascinating interaction between them as they fight about publishing rights that might pass into public domain (Tolstoy's well-intended but somehow clumsy and selfish idea, considering his wealth should provide his family estate with comfortable life after his death). There are lots of hyenas and vultures around, excellent Paul Giamatti being just one of the many amongst them - and young secretary (James McAvoy) whose romance with free-spirited Russian girl reflecting passion between elderly Tolstoy couple. The character of this young, enthusiastic and open-hearted secretary is well-acted, though his initial naivety slowly started to go on my nerves, where towards the end of the movie I find him so annoying (he is aware of all the backstage manipulations but does absolutely nothing to prevent them or to help anybody) that I started to argue with the movie. Yes, I remember what it was to be young and unsure, painfully willing to please everybody and to tremble in front of authority but even than I was opinionated and probably more prone to fight for the right thing than today - its young people who are ready to die for their beliefs, so I just wanted this secretary to show some guts and fire, instead of being innocent, passive bystander.

All the best about Plummer and Mirren, though. Whatever they do - when they argue, throw the plates, laugh or make love, they are joy to watch.
"You don't need the husband, you need a greek chorus" as angry Tolstoy scorns his wife.

Not-always-so-jolly old England: Elizabeth I (2005) by Tom Hooper

Perhaps the reason why 16th century queen attracts so many greatest actresses is the fact that Elizabeth I was actress herself - her whole life was a perpetual act where not only she had to balance all kinds of power games, but her life was a public stage with no privacy whatsoever and everybody from courtiers to assassins wanted something from her: what kind of curse this was to her I can't even imagine, but lady herself must have been aware that she can hardly trust anybody.

If you can erase the memories of so many excellent actresses who preceded Helen Mirren, this is a very enjoyable two-part TV drama (advertised as mini-series, whatever) filmed in sensational locations built in Lithuania (Tudor court looks amazingly real - not glamorous but practical, decorated but still a labyrinth of crowded halls where people watch every step you make). To be honest, all the other memories fade away when I'm watching this - everything from the script, dialogues, costumes to acting in superb.

First part has Elizabeth constantly fighting off marriage proposals and juggling one country for another, trusting only her chief advisers and her old favourite Earl of Leicester (Jeremy Irons).
"What is crown, when love's voice speaks to us?" she sighs when alone with Leicester, who is the only courtier brave enough to tell her things she don't want to hear.The second part has already ageing queen falling for Leicester's stepson (Hugh Dancy) but she is no fool - the toy boy is only good as long as he plays her game, as soon as he steps out of line, the head goes off, she is true daughter of Henry VIII after all. This is hardly the only head chopped off here, there are many quite brutal scenes including historically accurate beheading of Mary Stewart. To all who criticise fictive meeting between Elizabeth and Mary Stewart, I would just say - this is too good scene to be missed. And the fact we have no surviving documents about it, don't mean it didn't happen.

As always Mirren is magnetic - firm, stubborn, playful, coquettish, sentimental and cruel, she has it all. It is quite an achievement to make Elizabeth a believable, human person under all those elaborate costumes and wigs, but great actress she is, Mirren dominates the scene and she wears the clothes, not the other way around. Those closest to her are all excellent, including Jeremy Irons, Hugh Dancy, Toby Jones, Patrick Malahide and Ian McDiarmid - even Barbara Flynn as unlucky Mary Stewart completely fits to a description what she must have been like. Absorbing and absolutely recommended.

"The No.1 Ladies Detective Agency" by Alexander McCall Smith

I saw this little, slim volume all over the world trough my journeys - it seems it was there, in every bookshop, neatly placed next to its numerous sequels, inviting and popular. Of course, when something is popular, chances are I will stay away from it. But this time darn book was on my way so many times, in so many countries, in different translations and on different continents so finally I decided to give it a go. After all, most of the time what I avoided turned out to be just fine. The novel's title promised some good crime story - that is why I was a bit disappointed to realise that its a extremely simple book, with broadly painted characters who live simple lives and follow so-called "simple life philosophy".

"Hey, what is this" I said to myself "Dr.Doolitle?". I yelled to my friend "on the cover it says that British "Times" claimed this is book of the millennium!" She responded with laughter "and cover of my book says its a New York Times Nr.1 bestseller, so what!" We both roared, amused with this bombastic descriptions that unwittingly brought more damage than good - I understand that products needs to be marketed and sold but come on, the book of millennium should overshadow centuries worth of Shakespeare, Cervantes, Dickens and Dostoevsky - even if we talk only about the genre of detective novels, Arthur Conan Doyle, G.K.Chesterton, Agatha Christie and Georges Simenon left some pretty big shoes to be filled. Not that anything is wrong with this little book - had I not known about the hype, it could have been pleasant, unpretentious read on a train, but this was just mildly amusing. Contrary to its title, its not so much about detectives and crimes but about simple people living simple life in Botswana - the fact that these novels (which I will not follow) are so popular around the world shows there are many readers who find this kind if "simple philosophy" very appealing ("don't worry too much and eat your pumpkin") - it is cute and heart-warming, but personally I found it too slight. Not because of its volume - Willa Carther was deeply moving and her book was just as slim, or Josephine Tey for example - I constantly had a gnawing feeling this is a children's book.

Philomena (2013) by Stephen Frears

"Philomena" (2013) is another Stephen Frears slap on Catholic church face and although this movie is very different and gentler in its scope, I can't help but think that director had already said it all in “The Magdalene Sisters". Effective as the story definitely is (based on best selling book "The Lost Child of Philomena Lee") it kind of points at tunnel vision of director and a certain obsession that simply can't go on and let past be past.

Where the book has completely different focus, movie is tailored all around its star Judi Dench - a strange re-thinking of the subject, almost like making Dr.Watson main character in movie version of Sherlock Holmes. The elderly veteran (Philomena from the title) is an old Irish lady in search of the son that nuns took away from her long time ago, when she was still one of the infamous laundresses. Movie is basically a odd -couple journey to Washington with Dench being sweet, old fashioned grandmother and journalist (Steve Coogan) acting as director's alter ego, educated, worldly and cynical. Their interaction - not the horrifying, true life story - slowly takes over the movie, with Dench easily stealing our hearts with her good-natured naivety, simpleness and clinging to religion, while journalist watches her with cool detachment of superiority that he thinks his privileged and moneyed status has.
While story does pull at viewer's heartstrings and we can't forget this is a true-life story, it does feel a bit condescending and patronising at moments - it suggests that deep inside, dear old Dench is true heroine and people around her cold-hearted merchants ready to sell her story for a sake of sensationalistic success and profit. As good as Dench is (and she does excellent job of being dowdy sweetheart) her character is too darn meek and forgiving as contrary to cold-hearted Coogan who is at the end filled with righteous anger about injustice of it all. Nuns at the convent have of course not given any reasons or explanations why they behaved they way they did and director is not even interested in showing them as human - though some will accept this point without questioning, personally I find it too black-and-white and one-sided. We came in 21st century not only with decision to close those convents but with enough courage to ask the questions and hear some answers. Stephen Frears manipulates sentiments without giving clerics any voice, except right to be bad guys filled with venom. From the bottom of my atheist heart, I feel this is all wrong, nothing in this world is black and white.

‘Hello, Gorgeous: Becoming Barbra Streisand,’ by William J. Mann

Biographies are my guilty pleasure. Once I attempted to write down everything I had read in the past decade (I had it all noted down in my diary) and was a bit embarrassed to discover that quite a big chunk of my choice were celebrity biographies. And not even some scientists, writers or genuinely interesting people but actors and pop singers. After I realised this, now I warily pass by these titles, the little voice cautioning me against falling in the same trap - after all, it all comes down to superficial curiosity and dirty laundry waved as a victory flag. The celebrity cult now thrives on digging deep into secret closets and proving to everybody that stars are "just like the rest of us" if not even worse.There is a difference, though, between biographies and autobiographies. Biographies are written by somebody else - a person who often never even met its subject - and are result of research, interviews and effort. Autobiographies on the other hand are often just a vanity project, where people usually gloss over anything unpleasant and describe themselves shiny like baby's ass. Or they go into another direction and our all their frustrations and venom for the whole world to see, expecting this "poor me" stance to win our hearts. There are good and bad books in both options, as biography writers can be very good indeed (Sam Guralnick is excellent, for example, his biography of Sam Cooke covers much more than just a singer but the whole atmosphere of society back than) and some celebrities actually show a surprisingly deep insight (Simone Signoret) - this is probably the reason why I always return to this kind of books.

"Hello, Gorgeous" is by far the most serious and meticulously researched biography of Streisand I have read so far, surpassing both James Spada and Shaun Considine in depth, understanding and even style - William J. Mann is a joy to read, specially as he has different perspective: he focuses exclusively on first few years of Streisand struggle upwards, up to her "Funny girl" triumph on Broadway, so the whole book is basically only a chapter in her long career, but a immensely important since these formative years defined her work and personality. This "early years" aspect had already been used in similar effect in biography of Shirley Bassey by John L. Williams (published two years before this one).

What William J. Mann does very successfully here is presenting a theatre life in New York some fifty years ago, weaving seemingly a cast of hundreds into a story behind the rise of new singing phenomenon who secretly considered her nightclub engagements as "job for floozies" and saw herself as a serious actress. Of course, Streisand could not have done it all by herself and this is where author spotlights old friends, colleagues, lovers, producers, managers and agents who were all there along the way - and countless cabarets of Manhattan that were all never ending auditions one way or the other before recording deal and Broadway finally recognised what a marketable product this young, unusual and eccentric girl might be. A final matter of profit was all that mattered here and this is why all these people were using promotion gimmicks of all sorts to build a media hype around this strong-willed 20 years old who went from being eccentric and "kookie" to a fashion trend setter.

Streisand's story was told so many times before that its a wonder Mann came up with anything new at all, but he writes with a spark instead of just listing dry facts. Occasionally he might have gone overboard with weather descriptions back in 1962 but personally I didn't mind, it became a cute after a while. For everybody who is dead set against Streisand's success and drive, I would like to point that this young girl had to swallow a lot herself on the way to where she is now - contrary to accepted belief that she was ruthless and ambitious, she was for example blackmailed into four-movies contract with producer Ray Stark - and after making four movies for him, in 1974. she gave him antique mirror with description "paid in full".

"Domestic manners of the Americans" by Frances Trollope (1832)

"I have never seen the bay of Naples, I can therefore make no comparison, but my imagination is incapable of conceiving any thing of the kind more beautiful than the harbour of New York. New york, indeed, appeared to us, even when we saw it by soberer light, a lovely and noble city. situated on an island, which I think it will one day cover, it rises like Venice from the sea and like that fairest of the cities, receives into its lap tributes of all the riches of the world."

Thus writes Frances Trollope in her 1832. travelogue, notorious for its alleged criticism of all things American. It was a sensation of literary world on both sides of Atlantic for completely opposite reasons - Englishmen read it with a glee, Americans were insulted and infuriated. Not that she was the first in this - world traveller Basil Hall had already ruffled some feathers with his "Travels in North America" but this little gentlewoman cut even deeper in her clear-eyed descriptions of what she had found during her three years there. I have purposely quoted her first impression of New York to point to the facts - to all who actually bother to read the book - that Mrs.Trollope had not arrived full of malice and venom but her impressions were mixture of delight and disappointment, and the undisputed truth that she could write very well.

I had good luck to find 1960. print with excellent, lengthy introduction of professor Donald Smalley who explains in detail circumstances and background behind this book, how & why Mrs.Trollope came in North America and how she unsuccessfully tried a new start in life there, the travelogue being just a side note and hobby during the times when of all her assembled family she was the only one who actually pushed forward constantly. There was just so much she could do as a woman with limited finances and husband being more or less absent. It is a paradox that all her business dreams in North America came to nothing, but the travelogue was the true start of her life and career.

Was she really so nasty and offensive? Not at all - Mrs.Trollope was a visitor from another society and she would probably have written similar descriptions had she been placed in Tibet, Sahara or Antarctic. She records with the greatest enthusiasm plants, flowers, fruits and nature around her - being true Englishwoman she loved roaming in the wilderness and took long walks constantly (to amazement of her hosts who find it odd for a woman). She scrutinized architecture of these new, young cities and complimented when inspired. But she also noted pigs roaming the streets, people spitting and chewing Tobacco, women being locked away and the question of slavery - coming from class-conscious old world, she was annoyed with informality that surrounded her and what she perceived as lack of refinement (pointing simultaneously to the fact she was not really predisposed for a business success). I honestly think she was a sweetheart who wrote these notes out from occasional frustration (probably inspired by above mentioned Basil Hall) and as for the facts that so irritated Americans, here is what many years later Mark Twain wrote: " Of all these tourists, I like Dame Trollope the best. Yet she was merely telling the truth and this indignant nation knew it. She was painting the state of things which did not disappear at once. It lasted well enough in my youth and I remember it. She found a "civilization" here which you, reader, could not have endured and which you would not have regarded as civilization at all. She did not gild us and neither did she whitewashed us."

"Cabin In The Sky" (1943) by Vincente Minelli

Recent DVD release claims "“The films you are about to see are a product of their time. They may reflect some of the prejudices that were commonplace in American society, especially when it came to the treatment of racial and ethnic minorities. These depictions were wrong then and are wrong today.” It makes you fasten your seat belts and prepare for something like "The Birth Of The Nation" but in fact movie is pure, old fashioned Heaven for movie fans, with Vincent Minelli directing and Busby Berkeley doing choreography, not to mention the huge all-star cast, so what is here not to like?

The answer lies in that oh-so-touchy territory of "political correctness" where people of present are ashamed of years long gone by. Particularly seems that Afro-Americans are sensitive towards anything that might even suggest that years before 1960s were not oppressive, dark ages and anything from rare filmed Bessie Smith appearance to "Porgy & Bess" was at least at some point criticized for being demeaning. "Cabin in the Sky", coming at is it, from a musical stage has roots in old fashioned vaudeville with lots of eyeballs rolling, jive talking and knee-slapping. On the other hand, it was a cultural sensation back in its time, the first ever big-budgeted Hollywood musical with all-black star cast (not a single white character in sight) so if the characters were portrayed as impoverished and dreaming about such a simple pleasures as purchase of electrical washing machine, personally I don't see anything offensive here - it does not make them any less dignified or less
likable because they happened to live in 1940s.

Back to the movie: it is a sweetest Faust-like allegory set in 1940s with a good-hearted bum (Eddie 'Rochester' Anderson) in centre of fight between devil and angels for his soul. Angels try everything to keep him on a good path but devils have some mighty cards on their disposal, including money, gambling, nightclubs and a sexy kitten. All I can say is that surely sinners have better music - as personification of good life, church is all fine (blink and you'll miss that squeaky voiced little servant from "Gone With The Wind") but sin has Louis Armstrong, Duke Ellington, John “Bubbles” Sublett and Lena Horne. You might start watching the movie because of incredibly sexy and foxy young Horne but you'll end up admiring stout, matronly Ethel Waters who plays main female role and is wonderful. The way she walks off with this movie is just victorious. It is a bit surprising in focusing on big-boned, earthy and middle-aged Waters instead of some young beauty (since movies always promoted female attractiveness from that corner) but my guess is that her character in original play was meant to be life-like and recognizable to female audiences.
Just a beautiful, beautiful magical old movie, I love it to bits.

Barbra Streisand "Just For The Record" Box Set

A lesson in how meticulously researched archive work can be presented into a classy retrospective, this lavishly packaged box set is a cornucopia overflowing with rare tracks, forgotten and unreleased performances, early TV shows and tributes. Casual listeners have already been served with biggest chart hits elsewhere but this is definitely the most carefully selected and planned work Streisand came up with - free from thinking about album order and commercial pressure, here she looks back at three decades of unprecedented success in the business, discovering some very old and thrilling treasures indeed.

That even two out of four CDs here were covering 1960s just prove the point that Streisand was one of the world's greatest stars back than - despite her youth, she was curiously not a rock generation but perhaps one of the last torch bearers of traditional pop and a show biz as known from previous era. Her intense glow attracted huge admiration and put a spark into theatre musicals that were soon to fall out of fashion - no wonder that names such as Harold Arlen, Jule Styne and Richard Rodgers showered her with compliments (all preserved here) because this young, gawky and unorthodox looking Brooklyn kid perhaps unwittingly extended the life of music genre that was coming to its end. Sure, to some extend musicals and torch singing continued tot his day, but hardly ever as important - Streisand was the last artist who actually thrived and mattered doing this material and she sold millions of albums with it.

Disc 3 and 4 cover 1970s and 1980s - reluctantly, Streisand metamorphosed into pop crooner, toned down her belting and used movie screen charisma to launch even bigger records sales but my impression is that her heart was never truly in all this disco. Instead of simply recapitulating hits of those days, the fascinating box treats us with unreleased tracks from abandoned projects and they are without exception brilliant - even when material was eventually rejected for not being commercial, she always had not only this spectacular voice but full support of best studio musicians, producers and songwriters. Streisand's leftovers are still worth millions.

At the time of this original release I was in my early twenties and being impoverished student, had to make do with tape with "highlights" - which I loved, cherished and than promptly gave away in a fit of generosity. To have a proper box nowadays is pure joy.

Slađana Milošević discography

I have always found amusing when I hear people talking about great and exciting 1980s - this is nostalgia talking and it has nothing to do with reality, because I was there and let me tell you, we had our share of troubles, fears and phobias just like at any time. Visually it was time of clowning and statement making, when everyone tried to upstage each other (big hair, big jewelry) and as for music, well there were some catchy numbers to be sure but also a lot of crap, awful synthesisers, drum machines and occasionally some pretty bleak stuff that desperately wanted to prove the point of "being different" when in retrospect it was mostly waggon-jumping.

Slađana Milošević bravely attempted to be cutting edge in 1983 - even the album cover screams 1980s - assembling help from foreign musicians (this was a big deal back than, to show off names and studios on a cover) and rolling in the bed sheets as true star should. Unfortunately Bebi Doll did exactly the same in her album debut very same year (with even similar photo cover) and sorry, Slađana, but Bebi was far more interesting - even though both albums hardly raised any dust, since all this new wave stuff appealed only to handful of trendy kids. Not that Milošević lost her knack for hit songs - as her own Toni Basil tribute "Miki,Miki" nicely shows, she could write hit in her sleep, but too much of this stuff is purely derivative - say what you want, I hear "Flashdance" and Meat Loaf everywhere.

Released 12 years after her last studio album, "Animal tested" finds veteran signer doing completely left turn and instead of following any predictable option Slađana Milošević goes head-on hard rock - its all screaming guitars, snarling vocals and goth darkness (several songs are recorded in English) which is all quite admirable statement coming from artist who could have played safe. Sure, it is a shock if one is familiar with her peppy singles recorded two decades previously - and I dearly love those - however I do admire her guts to go so far and even if it's not a pleasant listening (apparently inspired by political revolt back in her homeland) it is a path that hardly anyone from her generation would have taken. Talking about old singles, one of them "Sexy dama" gets a new treatment here and its mind-boggling. If in some parallel universe 22 year old Slađana Milošević could possibly hear herself in two decades time, I bet she would have been impressed. A rare instance of artist actually getting more interesting with time.

Highlights:
"Uniform", "Detonatori", "Sexy dama II"

Slađana Milošević Singles

Infectious, funky number with a killer hook in refrain and a great fun, this single was self-financed first step in Belgrade's rockbird discography.

To be honest, I must admit here that previously I always somehow underrated Slađana Milošević because of prejudice towards her voice - to put it simply, lady was not born with overpowering instrument and her small, thin and basically limited sound always sounded a bit whiny to my ears. However, recent re-visit to her debut LP from 1979. was really great guilty pleasure because music was so darn good that I just learned to accept that perhaps I was unfair towards her. So on with re-discovery of Milošević back catalogue and would you know, her first single is a blast. It shows a complete control of commercial aspects - instantly memorable refrain - great, dark and sinuous rhythm, lyrics are fun and the whole darn things is a pure joy. Can't believe that it took me so long to rediscover something so irresistible.

B side is only slightly lesser disco track, not because of the song itself which is great but because side A was such mind-blowing cute hit that anything else pales in comparison.

"Simpatija" is a cutest little forgotten disco number that probably makes Milošević cringe today and rightly so, because it is so cutesy - but since author of this review is unrepentant lover of camp, it has a huge appeal to me. It was performed on pop festival (Beogradsko proleće '78) and it does sound like disco recorded in local basement, which probably it was. Marina Tucaković wrote lyrics again and it could be safely said that she didn't lose sleep over it - however, even with everything that should work against this single (thin voice, limited budget of production, banal lyrics) the results are great fun and sunny as they could be.

Side B is pure Giorgio Moroder circa 1977. (you know, those synthesizer whirls on Donna Summer albums) and as such only shows what pop trends shone into the world of singer back than.

"Sexy dama" was one of Slađana Milošević's biggest early hits from her singles days - also it points all the traps and limitations of the business that thrives on shock value: to top her previous releases and assert herself in macho rock world, Milošević goes all snarling vamp and boldly claims herself to be self-condfident fame fatale who transformed herself into everybody's envy. Kudos for her feministic empowerment but it all sounds a bit naive, simplistic and somewhat mindless - probably because neither singer nor composer (otherwise sweet Dejan Petković) were not really truly living at the edge and final results were kind of your relatives trying too hard.

Side B is hippity-hoppity jingle (again Dejan Petković), variation on "When I'm 64" in both lyrics and sound.

"Recept za ljubav" iz sweet rip off from Blondie sound - nothing original here but finally I hear Milošević doing decent Debbie Harry imitation and she is quite good at it, pulling enough sex appeal and sensuousness to cover that serious lack of voice. It is actually not embarrassing at all. Side B is collaboration with Vlada Divjan (Idoli) where guys take lead and Milošević only has a cameo but it is a unpredictable turn and fun. I am only slightly surprised that such a thin-voiced singer mustered enough confidence and determination to built impressive career despite lacking the concrete music identity - her music is all over the map and as an artist Milošević is impossible to define or pinpoint.

Oliver Mandić - "Dođe mi da vrisnem tvoje ime" (1985)

Last in a trilogy of Mandić's 1980s albums and a disappointing letdown after his previous work.

Where earlier music of Oliver Mandić was hip, urban and decidedly professionally produced, making it light years away from typical local competition and sounding like anything from world's biggest clubs, on his third album he suddenly turns to Balkan ethno-sound which sound like a bad joke coming from someone so fashion-concious - or a eager sell-out, depends on a point of view. The main thing about Oliver Mandić as artist was not his transgender image (obviously just a provocation) or his voice (sensuous, effective and capable) but the efforts he put into mixing his basically good-natured hedonistic odes into completely modern soundscape worth anything that came from Stockholm or London. Here, on "Dođe mi da vrisnem tvoje ime" he steps back into local pop scene, playing on obvious commercial aspect (ethno-sound WTF), everything from lyrics to music sound sparse, re-hashed and recycled - even with tons of guest artists who apparently only jumped on bandwagon.

I remember this album clearly, because previously he has been a huge "cool" name and initially the hype worked well enough to help the sales of even something as lackluster as this collection. Talented as he was, perhaps Mandić should have waited for another burst of inspiration instead of releasing warmed-up, half-baked ideas and sounding like a bad copy of himself. There is absolutely nothing here that we had not hear previously and even occasional funky riff is spoiled with inane, banal lyrics. Hearing something like "Kaje,bre" or "Fato" makes me wonder what kind of audience Mandić was aiming at - where previously he used to wink provocatively, this time it all sound just silly. Back than - and even now, as I gave it chance out of curiosity - it didn't move me and it just sound like huge burn-out. It is depressing to hear great artist going trough obviously painful episode in life and rummaging trough some dark corners of the soul for inspiration, where previously he has been such unrepentant  joy. Just a few years later, Dino Dvornik will take his crown without any fight and continue using absolutely same music approach, bringing trendy, modern sounds to local clubs - but without ethno compromises.

Album cover brings interesting tributes and thanks that deserve attention.

Slađana Milošević - "Gorim od želje da ubijem noć" (1979)

Surprisingly strong debut album by Belgrade-born rock singer released back in 1979, just at the start of her long career.

Slađana Milošević had never struck me as specially interesting vocalist and to be honest, back in the day she seems to have been manipulating media interest mainly trough outrageous image and Nina Hagen-kind of outfits. Ask anybody who was listening local pop music than and chances are Milošević was remembered somewhere on the fringes of the business as rebellious outsider whose artistic expressions (interesting as they might have been) were way above heads of mainstream audience. By all accounts interesting artist with a background in classical music, lady has never really been top star and even though female rock singers were hard to count on fingers of one hand, in this case cellophane overshadowed the substance. Where Josipa Lisac and Baby Doll (two equally visually eccentric singers) always legitimized their photo sessions with outstanding vocals, Milošević simply wasn't such sensational singer.

This is why it comes as such surprise to re-discover her 1979 album which is actually very strong pop/rock collection.
Sure, Milošević can't do much besides occasional nasty (but effective) snarl and vampy croon, but music is surely good - as it should have been, since some very strong musicians were involved here (Ipe Ivandić, Laza Ristovski, Dragan Jovanović) and its energetic, uncompromising, fun album with no filler at all. In fact, guitar wizardry on "Amsterdam" is enough to save her place in any anthology. Every single song is a great fun - in spite of lack of vocal virtuosity, lady holds her own quite well - and it still sounds very strong, even after all these years. The closing finale "Kontroliši se" is a disco celebration that brings album a little bit outside of its rock roots, but this sidestep is actually welcome surprise. Perhaps I should go back and re-visit her discography, after all.

Dušan Jakšić ‎– "Melodije domaćih autora" (1958)

Dušan Jakšić was a booming baritone omnipresent on recordings of late 1950s/early 1960s pop festivals.

His voice, very melodic, somewhat grandfatherly, masculine and theatrical, was completely reflection of its times, when such things as proper diction, breathing and somber poise were seen as necessary tools for anybody who even contemplates being invited on radio, not to mention such high honor as big stages of national festivals. The most interesting thing about Jakšić was that he was also a serious theatre actor and singing was just a side job for him, even though he had recorded quite a number of singles and EP recordings that resulted with passionate love letters and all sorts of offers from ladies moved by this deep voice.

"Melodije Domaćih Autora" (1958) is a 8-song album collection of mostly Tango ballads where this 32 year old Don Juan croons exclusively homegrown repertoire. Since this recording coincidences with emergence of pop music in Yugoslavia, no wonder that it all sounds a bit same, because composers were still good 20 years behind new trends and all this romantic yearning could have been recorded back in 1940s. Not that anything is wrong with singer himself - he surely sounds good (very reminiscent of Milan Bačić) - but I heard local pop recordings from 1940s and believe me, these composers were stuck in time. Only wonderful Darko Kraljić, who was a Gershwin of his time, provides uplifting swing number and  how great would have been if he got his own album, instead ubiquitous Mario Kinel who used his position in recording company to place not one, but two numbers here and he basically milks the same sound he already perfected with Ivo Robić (and even he had moved on). There is one serious classic here, though, the opening "Jesenja Elegija" that nicely show off singer's smooth, effortless voice and that will resurge 15 years later on album of his good friend Stjepan Jimmy Stanić.

Đorđe Marjanović - first Ex Yu pop superstar

"Muzika za igru" (1959)

This little 8-song recording, released on October 30, 1959. was the very first step that young recording house (PGP RTB from Belgrade) took to assert itself on national market. Yes, it was PGP RTB very first release and it saw the light of the day on singer's 26th birthday

Đorđe Marjanović was a true phenomenon back than - the very first showman, who actually moved, danced and (gasp) waved his jacket around, he embodied different kind of performer as opposite to strong-lunged belters who "behaved". This surely irked many who did not approve of this "westernized" influence and lots of discussions and ink focused on singer's alleged lack of legitimate voice - when dust settles it seems society was simply overwhelmed with this energetic and explosive youth. Luckily for him, for every stodgy critic there were legions of fans who showered him with adulation never seen in these parts of the world.

The sound of chimes introduce the lovely, now-classic evergreen "Zvižduk u osam" by composer Darko Kraljić - it is a charming, romantic chanson with lilting melody and easy to whistle (the translated title is "A whistle at eight"), completely harmless love song to a girl and such pretty little tune that for the life of me I can't understand why would anybody consider Marjanović a danger to society. Unfortunately the rest of recording session was probably done hurriedly (just a few days before singer went for national army service) so there were no more songs by Darko Kraljić and the rest was filled with mostly Italian covers (three by Domenico Modugno) - it is all perfectly sweet, 1950s pop and as the back cover politely points next to song titles, its cha cha cha, mambo, fox and slow rock, for which young singer wrote lyrics himself. As for the voice, well its far from operatic acrobatics popular back than, but he has earnestness, sincerity and joy in singing + the simple ditties demand no specific technique anyway. Since we were far removed from new trends across the Atlantic, Italian San Remo and occasional screening of some technicolored musical was all the local audience could get as a glimpse to another world and this little album was a not just a best seller (it sold 11 000 pieces in a country that officially only had 20 000 gramophone players) but a huge stepping stone for both PGP RTB recording house and a resurgence of pop music in post-WW2 Yugoslavia.

"Mustafa" (1961)

"Mustafa" (1961) found young singer at the first wave of national hysteria - in spite of all criticism, previous year Marjanović got his big festival debut (Opatija '60) and won three awards, amongst fierce competition of singers from every corner of the country.These were the times when most of people had not owned TV and such exciting transcriptions were followed by whole neighborhoods glued together. When he was ignored during awards on Belgrade's "Golden microphone", some 7 000 fans blocked Belgrade's main square and carried bewildered Marjanović on their hands in protest.

This, his second album, finds this new singing phenomenon even more energetic and self-assured than previously. Title song was of course, lifted note by note from Lola Novaković's hit single (her souvenir from a year spent performing in Middle East) and a curious fight of two recording houses competing for a hit with different versions of same song. The rest of album is actually ebullient, high spirited rock as translated from Italian originals (Adriano Celentano, among others) which naturally sounds completely harmless today but for listeners back than it was a huge experience to hear young singer singing "oh well, well, well" and inviting to a dance with music completely at odds with than-current straightjacketed pop. I hear absolutely nothing wrong with Marjanović's voice - he was not Caruso but carried tune just fine and backing singers (Vokalni Kvartet P. Ivanovića) added certain doo wop quality to final results. The hugely successful tours in Soviet Union were just around the corner and it was there that singer would live to be living legend of concert halls and harbinger of pop (Italian covers and all) - a curious exemplar of dance music Russian officials approved of - much to chagrin of his own colleagues back home who envied this success. It is all well and truly documented in than-current newspapers and in my opinion Đorđe Marjanović deserves a movie biopic instead of living his retirement in obscurity.

About Books - nature versus nurture

Here are covers of books that I loved so much during my childhood - "365 Stories" (for every day in the year) and Hans Christian Andersen's "Fairy Tales" as they were published in than-Yugoslavia in the 1970s. I was a true, little bookworm and today I will look back at those times with wonder and awe. How one becomes a lover of literature?

It is nothing unusual that child with all the privileges of happy, warm and comforting home gets nurtured and educated into certain talents, tastes or hobbies. Children are like little sponges and give them violin, track toy or a pet, chances are they might create the whole world out of it that will determine their future perception of the world. With the right influence, the kid might learn to play an instrument or to love sport, cars or even to love science. But what about those little people who somehow show spark of interest that stands completely at odds with their surroundings?

My mother read me little picture books - this I can't remember clearly, except as a foggy sensations of warmth and comfort. But I do remember having some picture books with little records - you listen the record and turn the page when bell rings. This clearly interested me far more than any of my toys and I would often get all sorts of picture books for present. Until the school age I had already learnt how to read trough comics and children's books, so school was terribly boring. For some reason I still remember our class memorising some simple song about cat and bird - where other kids suffered trough lines, I read them all quickly and than returned to my comics under the table. But no one had ever encouraged this passion for reading - my foster-family was not affectionate and though they fed, clothed and washed me, it was as far as their care went. God knows what I read - probably everything I could put my hands on - until lovely, retired teacher from my neighbourhood (sweet, old Marija Čičin Šain whom I will remember as long as I live) took a few coins from her purse and sent me to became a member of the local library - the whole new world has opened to me than and I wallowed in the books without anybody instructing me to do so or forcing me to read. Where other kids suffered trough books, I was completely omnivorous - and when I finished with children's part, I moved into grown ups part of the library. Illustrated encyclopedias were my biggest joy because they had so many interesting information, nice pictures and ideas. Sure, I probably went trough all kinds of crap simply because it was available - Harold Robbins and Sydney Sheldon were big bestsellers back than, but I also clearly remember cooling off them and searching for something more substantial while my library-going friend stuck to her thrillers and wouldn't budge.

At certain point I spread my wings and moved to other libraries, searching for  "new books". Surely it was probably all the same, but at least space seemed different. And so it continued, even as I moved to other countries - I bought quite a few books, naturally but libraries were - and still are - my temples. For the past ten years I have been working on cruise ships and very rarely have I found anything truly interesting in their libraries, but travelling around the world also gave me insight into local bookshops. I can get along Copenhagen, Stockholm, Barcelona or any of Caribbean islands (not to mention South Africa) and find my way to bookshops. As for London's or Amsterdam's bookshops, I know them inside out. You can bet that the moment I settle on land with a decent job - no matter where - finding a rich library would be my first priority. And here I am, at the age of 44 and still crazy in love with books just as I was long ago. Nobody ever tutored me or instructed me in this, it was completely spontaneous and natural. How and why did I grew up to be lifelong book-lover in spite of being raised by people who hardly ever read, its still a mystery to me.

Spanish movies - "Boca a boca" and "The Flower Of My Secret"

Inspired with Woody Allen's "Vicky, Cristina, Barcelona" I have decided to take a look at some real Spanish directors and last night watched not one but two Spanish movies.

"Boca a boca" (released in English as "Mouth to Mouth") is not Almodóvar movie, though it could easily be one - same odd characters living on a edge of society, soon-to-be Almodóvar actors, very colourful sets and crazy music, spirit of Spain and everything absolutely lovable. Sorry Woody Allen, but you could never make something so delightfully funny and well, Spanish - maybe in his younger years Allen was full of spark but this movie reminds me that Allen's comedy days are long gone. Best of all is how this movie pokes fun at itself and movie industry - young Javier Bardem is struggling actor ready for everything just to get a shot in a "big American movie" (this includes some very funny, intentionally bad English)and he is a lovable dreamer raised on American movies but his heart of gold somehow leads him trough all the movie's complicated plot and hilarious twists. Supporting actors Josep Maria Flotats and beautiful María Barranco are delightful as well.

"The Flower of My Secret" somehow escaped me previously and to my biggest surprise this is Almodóvar that I was unfamiliar with - it burst with ideas, talents, fun and sub-plots.
Marisa Paredes is heroine here, a stylish lady with a poise but deeply self-destructive when it comes to men and the colourful bunch of characters around her all seem even crazier than she is - a paranoid mother, argumentative sister (wonderful, long-faced Rossy de Palma), gypsy maid who is actually brilliant flamenco dancer (Manuela Vargas), maid's dancer son (no other than Joaquín Cortés) and a wonderful, chubby newspaper editor (Juan Echanove) who might be the love she is searching for but completely unaware of it. "A woman without a man is like a cow without a bell" sighs her mother in rare moment of clarity and this lack of focus is what bothers Almodóvar's heroine the most, even though she lives comfortable life and certainly don't lack anything - it is a very likable tribute to old Hollywood "women's movies" and in fact, quotes from classic movies are abundant here. Bittersweet and lovely.

Cats and Dogs

My traditional vacation in Croatian countryside was not so isolated as it could have been, thanks to neighbour's pets.
Long ago, this little village house was full of people - nine people lived here - but they all either passed away or moved to big cities, no one is interested to live in countryside anymore. Stables and basements that once bursted with goods are deserted now and most of the houses are either completely ruined, for sale or just used for occasional weekend getaway. So much for village life.

For years even this weekend house had not one, but two dogs - typical village dogs used to "protect the house" and they were fed around until weekend when my friends would come along. Like most of country-born people, they are not specially affectionate towards pets and probably see them as something decorative and annoying around the house. Unfortunately both of these dogs had died long ago. The older one was quite large old gentleman called "Medo" and when we first met he was already living his last years, following me around suspiciously and I remember charming him with cookies. He didn't quite understand what am I doing here but he accepted me as a visitor who tries to protect him from winter cold and I would lock him in just to have to let him out in the middle of the night as he wanted to go out and bark with other village dogs.

"Gina" was found abandoned somewhere near by - people just probably dropped her out of the car - and found a home living with "Medo". He accepted her and she followed him around, living quite comfortably and in fact she was small but demanding about her habits - I had to open the doors all the time to get her in and out because she had her favourite chair. Since both of these dogs were not used to cuddling, I simply let them be. And spoiled them with peanuts and other things they loved. Both of them are gone now and naturally I missed them sometimes because as much as I enjoy being alone, these dogs were company.

A young neighbour has a cat that came along last year - she was very cuddly and affectionate, so naturally she was my welcome guest and often ate, cuddled and slept here in my kitchen. I even went so far that I started buying canned food specially for her, though I always made a point of feeding whoever came along as there are many other animals around and all the doggies and cats occasionally popped in for a taste - "my cat" was very possessive about her territory and was always very unhappy and protective about "her house" which I found very funny.

Not long ago I was very distressed about the destiny of a little homeless dog from animal shelter and begged my neighbour to take him - he refused, saying that he works a lot and can't take the responsibility for a dog. Fine. But now suddenly his girlfriend convinced him to take a small puppy (month and a half, just a baby) to have "something to play with" and naturally this turned out completely irresponsible because animal is not just a toy to be played with - little baby is cold, lonely and hungry the whole time when he is at work (and he is absent almost the whole day) so what to do, I took the baby in my kitchen. It is a girl and she is so small, cuddly, playful and unprotected that I don't understand how can anybody think that having a dog is just a matter of occasional feeding and playing - she demands absolute attention and is unhappy even if I leave the house for a moment. It started so that I am taking her in the morning to spend the day in the warm place, but it seems the owner is more than happy to leave her with me so he can be free and she slept at my place last night. Of course I am thrilled to have this puppy around and she is lovely - but when I leave her destiny is not very happy because I can tell she will be neglected as most of these village dogs are. Unfortunately the above mentioned cat has to stay outside (meowing angrily) because she is so jealous that she had even attacked the puppy, so as much as it is unfair, she is on her own now.

Zagreb a hundred years ago

Thanks to Internet I am able to see these wonderful old photos of the places I am very familiar with in present time, but this is a true time machine.

As a kid I grew up right in centre of Zagreb.
Vlaška street was right in front of my house and here is where little me trotted daily, where all the shopkeepers knew me (believe me, it's not a good idea to steal candies where everybody knows you), where I hit my head on some shoe-maker's window display and had to be brought to hospital, where I always had a haircut, where we bought cakes in cake shop by Albanian guy and where I was fortunate to never fall under the streetcar thought the traffic was sometimes quite busy but we all behaved like we own the street. The building that always towered above it all was St.Peter's church - very strange, phallic building if you ask me - that never interested little heathen like me. We lived in a completely hypocritical society where outside people were proper communists with party membership but secretly they celebrated all the religious holidays at home, hidden under the curtains and don't even ask why it was like that - following tradition I guess - so the church was the place on a tram stop. Where that guy had a stand with peanuts and popcorn. Once I did sneaked into a church during some mass I guess, and stood in line with other children who were getting leavened bread, mouth gaping eagerly but the priest just passed me by, knowing I am a little intruder. Funny how we remember these things. This magnificent photo shows the same spot with unrecognisable St.Peter's church the way it looked about hundred years ago - there was no tram of course, buildings were more like a little village than a centre of town and church itself looks very strange because it has a bell tower on a top that I don't know nothing about. Later it was re-shaped with another top and a cross and this is how it looks today.

Not very far from this spot, in fact almost around the corner is a famous birth hospital where countless citizens of Zagreb were brought to life, including, dear reader, the author of these marvellous and deeply wise lines. The street is called Petrova street (again, because of the church I guess) and its still a quiet, nice road that goes parallel with Vlaška street - a step away from hustle and traffic, but lovely oasis with quiet gardens and elegant buildings. I couldn't care less for Zagreb and have not a nostalgic bone in my body - present is present, past is past - but if theoretically I could chose, I would prefer to live in Petrova street because it has a a provincial charm and is short walk away from centre. I could easily imagine myself writing in a garden there and than taking my dog for a stroll afterwards, passing the birth hospital and towards famous Maksimir park. Back to the birth hospital - it appears huge and imposing here but its only because other houses nearby were so tiny back than. Nowadays it is a grey, slightly ruined building that has seen better days and its almost lost between other buildings. I just found it so interesting that all my little life back than was placed in this neighbourhood triangle - here I was born, a street away was my primary school and around the corner of that same school is where I lived. my ground floor windows looking at anonymous parking lot that was a fantastic playground for me and my little friends (and occasional WC for all of us) and where my eyes gazed often up towards the sky from that particularly low perspective, daydreaming above my books about some other place I would one day run away to. I recall sitting there and looking at the map of the world imagining journeys to all these interesting, other countries - by some strange coincidence I did visit them all later in life, even lived in some of them - and in a way I still did not given up my dreams. One is never too old to dream.

Woody Allen

Looking back, somewhere between adventure thrills of cinematic Robin Hood and technical wizardry of "Superman", the huge step in my childhood's perception of cinema (and a cornerstone of my own puberty years) were movies of Woody Allen. Those early slapstick comedies where neurotic characters babbled about meaning of life and poked fun at Bergman were screaming fun for me, while my parents couldn't find anything funny about them as they never saw anything like it and couldn't possibly relate to these spoiled New Yorkers who didn't have to wake up in ungodly hours for a factory work as they did. I adored Allen's movies long into 1980s but somehow as he became more serious and consciously arty, he fell under my radar with only occasional peek into his world. I have to admit here that I took him for granted - "oh,just another Woody Allen" - because I couldn't forgive him for changing.

"Midnight in Paris" (2011)
Woody Allen played me like a violin here.
Perfectly aware this is his own vision of romantic Paris (just like "Amélie") without graffiti, garbage or poverty, I dived into this dream of a movie somewhat reluctantly expecting "another Woody Allen" just to get myself enjoying it immensely. As I got pulled into it, my initial resistance melted completely, replacing it with joy, laughter and a wonderful feel-good experience.
Sure, it is so easy to be cynical and analyse Allen from thousand different points, simply because we take him for granted now - guy is making movies constantly and continuously for decades now, without ever really falling from grace or climbing out of poverty and rehab clinics that would make his story more interesting to media. As long as I can remember he created one movie after the other, experimenting and tweaking here and there, leaving the old skin behind and changing into a different artist - with still recognisable touch.

"Midnight in Paris" does not have Woody Allen on a screen - but his alter ego is present in character of gentle dreamer (Owen Wilson) who roams romantic streets of Paris with his obnoxious fiance and her parents chained to his leg. Its obvious that this is not a good fit and why would they even insist of catching him as a bridegroom when they hardly bear him is not truly explained, but director suggest it would be just another marriage of convenience. "Well, we have lots in common..." muses Wilson "for example we love Indian food..." and as the city gets under his skin, this dream seems to vanish because he can clearly see himself living different, another life far from these materialistic people. What follows is another typical Woody Allen magical realism where characters get lost in time. If anyone else made this, it would be sacrilege because it has already been done - but Woody Allen has all the right in the world to play with his own older ideas and he does it with grace, humour and magic. There is a very interesting question somewhere in all of this, about meaning of "good old days" which are always imaginary Heaven when compared to present time, movie suggest that this is illusion because any time was difficult for people for whom it was present. The movie charmed the socks off critics and audiences around the world and reminded me how much I always loved Woody Allen.

"Blue Jamine" (2013)
Allen could have continuing churning lovable "Midnight in Paris" crowd pleasers forever - but he is artist and therefore decidedly follows his own muse.
Falsely promoted as a comedy drama, "Blue Jasmine" is in fact a very dark, serious psychological drama with more than just a passing nod to a certain play by Tennessee Williams and if you thought Vivien Leigh is untouchable, just wait until you see what Cate Blanchett does as modern-day Blanche DuBois. It is not a pleasant experience and not only the main character slowly descends into madness but she is also intensely unlikable person - which makes this a huge acting feast for Blanchett but audience experiences strange sensation of rooting not for her but for her impoverished, working class sister (Sally Hawkins). Cleverly using contrasting joys of ordinary, low-income folks in San Francisco with sorrows and manipulations of New York's jet set, director also points how completely unprepared for "real life" Blanchett is - used to high life and doing nothing except parasite existence, she is horrified and mortally embarrassed to even think about having to work anything that would be (in her opinion) "bellow her".

As always, Allen has a cream of Hollywood at his disposal - and this should not be surprising considering director of his reputation. The one thing missing from a "Woody Allen movie" is a complete absence of any comedy - at least I did not find anything remotely funny here - and perhaps here is a root of basic misunderstanding of Woody Allen as a filmmaker, since he changed already decades ago into a different artist who is perfectly capable of superior psychological insight. Not that anything is wrong with comedies and he can still do them easily, but something like "Blue Jasmine" is after all, mature work.
Cudos to Cate Blanchett for biting the bullet and diving into such ungrateful role.

"Vicky Cristina Barcelona" (2008)
Allen's love letter to Barcelona finds now elderly director transported in a place completely different from his beloved New York and enjoying a romance with this magical town. Shots and characters are "typical Woody Allen" but it all have a new, spicy, Spanish flavor - no wonder, because it is one of the most intoxicating places I have ever visited, there is a strong atmosphere here unlike anything one might encounter elsewhere, be it architecture, history, people or simply combination of it all.

The interplay between two American tourists (Scarlett Johansson, Rebecca Hall) and magnetic local couple who can't live with or without each other is pure Allen that reminds me on his previous movies ("Hannah and her sisters" for example) where close group of people live, love and hate surrounded with class, privilege and comfort - no one seriously works here, its all talk, wine sipping, artistic friends and pursuit of pleasure. Ah yes, this is Spain so we get classical guitar, poetry, paintings and lots of Gaudi.
Nothing wrong with that, except that in its heart this is still a tourist's impression of Barcelona - no wonder that work of local directors  like Almodóvar, who are inspired with dirt, sweat and blood strikes me as being far closer to home. Allen's world is a different one and he is not interested in anything so prosaic as ordinary people who can't afford to simply flight a plane to Oviedo on a whim.

Javier Bardem and Penélope Cruz are both excellent, true heart and soul of this movie. None of their American colleagues come close to their passion, charisma and presence. Perhaps it was not Allen's intention but where his American expatriates relocated in Barcelona appear spoiled and bored, it is locals who are grounded, firm and determined. However, it is very enjoyable to see director so inspired by new locations and I only wish him to live a hundred more years and making movies around the world.

About TV

It occurred to me this morning - right in the kitchen, as these thoughts usually come so randomly - that although people claim TV brainwashes and stupefy, same things used to be said for books. Remember all those stories about "bad books" and "bad influences"? Suburban housewife diving so recklessly into adultery because Flaubert poisoned her mind? I have been raised with black-and-white TV constantly on, but since I didn't have it in my room, books were my main comfort. Later in life I continued to read with greatest passion and TV was just unnecessary technical gadget I could live without, in fact as I moved to UK and The Netherlands, I was delighted to meet people who were also reading and completely ignoring TV. "What about the news?" I would have asked. "You can read news in the newspapers just the same"

Since I can - and I do - live without TV, this morning I tried to work my mind not against it but "for" its purpose. All those documentaries, news and perhaps entertaining things I deprive myself from. No matter how I try to look at it, I constantly see my acquaintances switching the darn thing on and the brain off, evening after evening, searching for something "interesting", clicking remote control from channel to channel, desperately complaining "there's nothing to watch" - where of course there are thousands things going on but not that expected crime serial or another thriller about mass murderer. So is it brainwashing and bad influence? That would be perhaps too harsh - just like books, newspapers and internet, it is a media and it all depends on a person using it. As a teenager I used to spend a sleepless night completely lost in my first-ever Agatha Christie novel and no one would think about criticizing it, however try to spend a sleepless night on Internet and you instantly feel guilty as time was wasted. Just as some people find the pleasure and comfort in reading love stories or watching soap operas, I am capable of diddling with my own writings (diary, blog, music reviews or whatever) that absolutely makes no ripple elsewhere but it is a good brain exercise and I enjoy it. So it goes like with anything else, as long as person is not addicted in a sense that his/hers life revolves around that TV program, cigarette, glass of vine or any unbreakable habit (and habits are also comforting, I see nothing wrong in them) there should be no harm. It is my own choice to select books, reading or any other distractions as preferred to oh-so-passive TV evening. Just like Internet browsing occasionally brings something quite unexpectedly moving, interesting and thought-provoking, TV has the same option, one just needs to be selective.

However, I spend weeks here on vacation without ever switching it on (except when I hear about some documentary) and when I am sailing for 6 months I never ever watch it. There was a roommate once who was constantly clicking the remote control, guy was not watching anything but just changing channels all the time. Noticing that I am usually lost in my books and completely ignoring this dazzlingly interesting variety of entertaining, once he actually asked me why am I not watching TV and is this maybe because of my religion?

I have spent ten years sailing now and during this time my working hours usually extend long into the early morning hours, after which I am ready just for a shower, some self pity and a page or two, I can't focus on TV at 2 a.m. knowing that there is work waiting for me again in the morning. So I read. And occasionally I watch some old classic movie on my computer, when recommended I even check some TV serial, usually during my vacation. Even with all the high recommendations, I couldn't get into "Breaking Bad" because it simply didn't appeal to me.
Is it great acting as everybody says, I cannot tell - this is a depressing story about unhappy people and it just made me uncomfortable, I was not immersed in it but constantly aware I am sitting here and suffering watching something ugly that is supposed to be interesting. So I gave up on episode four and in search for something more enjoyable, lighter and feel-good turned to "American Horror Story". Yes I know, strange choice but it did work out very well as escapism and few evenings just whizzed by as I was smoking, biting lips, gulping wine, running to WC and back, living it again in my head and checking Wikipedia what's happening next. Both seasons one and two are - I see it now - not so original, ideas are combination of previous successful movies like  "Sixth sense", "Rosemary's baby", "Exorcist" and countless other clichés about dark corners in the haunted houses, however the cast was very good, the stories gripping (though excessively violent and brutal) and the fact that everything on the screen was so unreal helped me to enjoy it as something that is just a "TV show" with no connection to my reality whatsoever. I do must admit that I found it a somehow overlong and extended beyond the cliffhanger point (second season could have easily end at episode 10 instead of going on for another 3) but it was a fine escapism. Jessica Lange and Lily Rabe seems to have particularly enjoyed themselves.

Old festivals - Opatija & Zagreb

Post-WW2 prosperity reflected somewhat from glamorous, star-studded stages of Italian San Remo and Eurovision across the borders of nearby Ex Yugoslavia.
At that point wealthiest East European country, Tito's Yugoslavia couldn't help but assimilating little of neighborhood's glitz and we soon got our own pop festivals, juries and music stars just like in San Remo.

Pop festival in Opatija (affectionately called "the old lady") was probably the main festival stage of 1950s, 1960s and 1970s since this is where who's who of music scene competed amidst huge media attention. Surviving performers from that time claim nowadays that those were sweet, innocent times where everybody shared huge enthusiasm for music itself and financial gain was trend that would not enter local music business until much,much later. The stage of classy, old "Kvarner hotel" was also the place of national choice for Eurovision song festival, so Opatija was definitely a place to be.

This album, recorded and released in 1958. brings only eight songs but they were all "greatest hits" of the year.
If I am correct, songs were usually performed in two versions, with each voice given different arrangements. Eight singers recorded here were than current top class of the still young recording industry and simply being represented here was as getting a Medal of honor. Veteran Ivo Robić and his young discovery-protege Zdenka Vučković waltz trough that year's classic hit singing what is basically praise to a new-found discovery of shopping and consumerism. Baritone Dušan Jakšić thunders trough tango about (what else) beauty of Adriatic sea, operatic Anica Zubović somewhat woefully emotes cinematic drama just to make sure this is not some superficial celebration but serious thing, honey voiced tenor Toni Kljaković got a really fine, romantic number that even Italian Claudio Villa probably wouldn't mind and those darlings of radio-editor Mario Kinel (Duo sa Kvarnera) almost steal Kljaković's thunder with their gorgeous harmonies. Young and sparkling Beti Jurković got to sing here what will later be remembered as Marjana Deržaj's signature number. Everything is tastefully backed with huge orchestra conducted by legendary Ferdo Pomykalo who was kind of local Mantovani and in 1958 that was still a compliment.

A generous, if not exactly entertaining compilation preserving for posterity what kind of music was considered "pop" back in 1961, Opatija '61 brings the whole new generation of wannabes, ready to burst and proud to be presented on national stage (and TV screens). Almost all of them passed serious tests before they arrived here, almost all of them were poised for success and frankly my dear, they all later made it. Only veteran Ivo Robić was well-known and successful previously, all these kids were just starting and its amazing to see them all here like some strange butterfly collection of most colorful species - from today's perspective it looks like who's who of Ex Yu old timers.

With the only exception of uncharacteristically jolly number by baritone Dušan Jakšić (who was usually far more somber, but here was caught in post-coital elation) and infectious, swinging and hip ditty by chirpy "Duo Hani", everything else is somehow subdued, like music authorities might complain about rhythms being too fast or music perhaps too much fun. So it is more or less a serious business full of whispers, sights and sorrow. Even the later volcanic Tereza Kesovija here is all stifled and formal to the point that her younger self is quite unrecognizable to future generations who know her as full-blown dynamo. It is definitely not performer's fault but my impression is that at the time they were some serious standards and expectations how "pop singers"  should look, sound and behave. So if they all appear like earnest high school graduates, well those were the days my friend, we thought they'd never end.
Lola Novaković got herself a really pretty ballad, which might be a highlight here.

Zagreb's music festivals have almost six decades of history behind them now and gave lots of pop classics along the way.
From its simple 1950s roots (where only two singers showcased songs by various competing composers) to further decades when sophisticated, orchestral pop experienced its up and downs,it was a stage that would often catapult new stars and gave media tons of material to cover - not necessarily just music but everything that show business as such brings, including fashion trends, celebrity scandals, magazine covers and backstage maneuvering.

For some reason - perhaps because the timing was just perfect - festivals of 1962 and 1963 are remembered as true explosion of new talents and white-hot inspiration.
It seems that stages of pop festivals in the previous few years were just introduction and testing of water compared to what happened during these two years when composers, arrangers and performers suddenly experienced pure high of competition - according to their interviews today, it was a very healthy, friendly contest with everybody involved being happy and honored to be invited there and even the fact that performers would get to perform each other's songs (as a homage to composers) was seen as good natured collaboration.

Both years are now compiled in their complete recordings here on this double CD, together with not only official LP releases but with added singles and archived bonus tracks of "other versions" of now-classic evergreen hits. It is very interesting to note the presence of artists invited from every single corner of than large country, it wasn't just a showcase of local Zagreb's stars (as it became tradition later) but also a stage for singers like Lola Novaković, Ljiljana Petrović, Marjana Deržaj, Dušan Jakšić, Nada Knežević and even a rock band Bijele strijele. People like Zdenka Kovačiček and Arsen Dedić were presented here in the first bloom of their youth, among the rest of their colleagues who were all at the start of long careers. Excellent.