New York and The Metropolitan Museum of Art

And so it came that after years of sailing, travelling and constantly waking up in different places & countries, I had finally stepped out in New York. I glimpsed it once previously, trough the window of the plane and it was thrilling to see that famous buildings even just for a moment, to confirm, yes it is real, not just the movie fantasy. But this time there was actually time to go outside and see it for myself for the first time - like the first kiss, the first time ever you see New York is unforgettable experience, a wonderful thrill and almost overwhelming feeling of achievement and happiness, although of course this is purely subjective & childish - I have seen and indeed lived in some of the world's most famous cities, but New York is really unique place in the world. For one thing, there is a special atmosphere and almost physical sense of being in the middle of human beehive, since thousands of completely different people whizz around, everyone minding their own business and going their own way but you do have a strong feeling of seeing the whole world represented in one city - black, white, homeless, rich, beggars, policemen, fashionable, Asian tourists snapping selfies, lawyers with pink ties, yellow cabs, Broadway dancers in red socks advertising hit shows, it is almost overwhelming but thanks to my previous years of travels, I felt just completely at home being in the middle of it all and quick glance at the map made it clear that city (as enormous as it is) is actually extremely easy to manoeuvre since streets are built horizontal and avenues vertical. I have stepped out on 50th Street and decided to walk right down, thinking at least I can always go back the same way. 

It is interesting to note what actually motivated me during my very first time ever stroll into New York City - out of hundreds different landmarks, the one that really attracted me the most was not any of the commercial, gaudy or glitzy tourist attraction but something that would (hopefully) speak to my heart. I couldn't care less for Broadway, shops, Tiffany or anything commercial (although I did stop and admire pearls in Mikimoto boutique on 5th Avenue, out of professional curiosity) but I really, really wanted to see The Metropolitan Museum of Art, located right in the middle of Manhattan, just next to Central Park. Somehow I imagined New York City to be place absolutely impossible to walk around but actually I got there by simply strolling along very easily as my very own 50th Street brought me to crossroad with 5th Avenue and from here I just walked along Central Park until I finally reached the famous museum. Easy as pie.

The Metropolitan Museum of Art was - is and ever will be - one of the most exciting place for an art lover. Years of roaming trough some of Europe's largest museums trained me a little already, so not only that I am able to admire & recognise pieces in their historical context but at this point I am actually familiar with some of the world's famous art pieces (indeed some are gracing my computer screen) so naturally seeing them in real life is a pure delight. Even more exciting is to experience discovery of new favourite pieces, however what thrilled me the most was the sheer exuberance, luxury and smorgasbord of choices: where famous Hermitage in St.Petersburg just gave me a headache (not only because it was too huge to enjoy but also because I could sense local employees intensely disliking visitors) the overabundance of exhibition here was delightful and done with style. Yes, everything is huge, massive and extremely rich but this is exactly why we came to admire it - where some of European museums loom large, dusty and empty (yes, I am talking about you, Budapest) this museum brims with people and even though probably half of them are too busy with taking selfie snapshots, another half seriously admires incredibly exciting and tastefully arranged art exhibition. I have started with art of ancient Greece and Rome, than went on to see Egypt and this was just the ground floor - one hour - after which I needed a break. Gimme a break. Luckily there is a nice little coffee place where I treated myself with Key Lime Pie and Cappuccino, rested a while and gave myself another hour, before (inevitably) I need to go back to the ship.

For the second hour in The Met, I decided to forget about any maps and instructions because otherwise I will be stuck in one corner the whole day. So I threw myself completely into the various rooms, like diving into waves of art, without having any idea where exactly I am going and just waltzed from room to room, from exhibition to exhibition with pure delight and excitement of what I have discovered. I whizzed trough centuries, kingdoms and genres, with burning cheeks and clasping hands, often giggling with excitement and entertaining security staff who laughed at my excitement. (Some of them look incredibly bored and blasé, like their mobile phone is far more interesting than beauty around them)

One thing that came to my mind during this art pilgrimage is that its interesting to discover how some museum pieces are simply that - old museum pieces, worth seeing because they are reminders of incredibly old culture that disappeared thousands of years ago. Ancient Egyptian carvings or sculptures are fascinating because someone made them thousands of years ago, yes they are incredibly old but so far removed from our time that after initial curiosity they still leave me cold - this has absolutely nothing to do with me.

On the other hand, there is another kind of museum pieces and I am talking about art objects that stir our hearts. They can still be very old but if we talk about roughly last thousand years, they are definitely more closer to our reality - perhaps not religious art which curiously leaves my barbaric, heathen heart unmoved - well every now and than I encounter something that profoundly moves me and the best of all is that it happens completely spontaneous. I don't necessary need to know the painting is by Pieter Bruegel the Elder or Johannes Vermeer in order to enjoy it (I have mentioned these two since they are represented in this museum and I happen to like both of them) however the beauty of particular art piece speaks to our heart (or spirit?) and this time, out of thousands different things my heart completely stopped when I saw a little porcelain figurine of so called "Chinese Slave" that curiously don't even look Asiatic at all, but the exquisite beauty and almost painful sadness of it absolutely stole my heart. It spoke to my heart and I admired it immensely, I almost feel that (crazy as it sounds) this little figurine posses some of my own soul in it. Truly curious experience to recognise ones own spirit mirrored in the piece of art. 

This gave me a taste for visiting NY again. Will I ever go there again? Who knows? It took me a lifetime to get a chance for even these brief few hours. But I can safely say that given time, I would probably enjoy a full week really exploring it my way and would definitely re-visit same art museum again, if nothing else than just to greet my little Chinese Slave again.

"Zorica Kondža Zlatna Kolekcija" (2004)

Croatian singer Zorica Kondža arrived on a music scene as a lead vocalist of rock band "Stijene" - the band was fine but we all had our eyes and ears focused on the girl singer who was sensational, soaring to the skies with powerful voice of the kind we never encountered before. If in previous decade Josipa Lisac was our rock goddess, well this new girl was actually her worthy successor. She had delivery like a flamethrower, fierce, passionate and apparently there was no limit of what she could do. 

Kondža stayed with the band for duration of exactly two albums and just when things started happening, she went solo. Solo being very relative word as from now on, she sang material composed by her husband Joško Banov and although there was never anything wrong with it, we started to accept that the gradual change obviously took place - Kondža slowly transformed from young, angry rocker into mother and wife who feels comfortable in Split festival and such easy listening programs. Year in and out Kondža would sing on festivals, always nice little songs and voice was permanently above any competition but we regretted that she never fulfilled that promise from the start when it seemed that she will be our biggest female rock singer. This compilation brings majority of her solo work and its pleasant but hardly worthy of that magnificent voice that once kept us spellbound - it is no accident that two of the strongest songs on this CD were recorded when she was still member of "Stijene" ("Ima jedan svijet" and "Singing that Rock and Roll") so basically this makes you run for original old albums when she was still in the band. This might be a perfect example of singer who mellowed (or perhaps got wiser?) with age - considering that the voice is still in excellent shape, it makes you wonder would Kondža perhaps fare any better with bigger variety of collaborators. Decent duet partners and it is nice to find Tedi Spalato in here.

Mediocre material but voice is one of a kind. 

"Ispuni Mi Zadnju Želju" by Doris Dragović (1993)

After six albums with composer Zrinko Tutić, singer Doris Dragović turns her attention to other composers. The desire to spread the wings and perhaps try different sounds seems natural, however the change is not really so drastic - Dragović started with sweet, light and breezy pop funk of the band "More" but in subsequent years Tutić steered her towards completely different music and she found her speciality in ethno-folk melodramas for which composer mixed Greek and Mexican ingredients. That collaboration was very successful and it worked like magic for years but it did pigeonholed young singer in a certain category since this music consciously and decidedly followed tradition, rarely stepping outside of the frame or experimenting with different production. It became very obvious that at this point Dragović was out of step with new wave of modern artists like Dino Dvornik and Electro Team who successfully spearheaded completely new trends and their music was played in clubs and bars.

Even the old timer Oliver Dragojević found renaissance in collaborations with young producers and songwriters, so it would have been interesting to find Dragović in completely new, current and modern production - this will eventually come in the future, but for now she still held on to her guns and firmly stayed in the comfort zone of traditional schlager, even though she changed composers. Her choice of collaborators is hardly adventurous - these are not just any people, mind you, but celebrated names like Zdenko Runjić (who brings two best songs of the whole album), Đorđe Novković and Tonči Huljić, all of them previously celebrated and successful composers but material sounds very much like what Dragović did for the last decade, there is nothing really new here except the gnawing feeling that perhaps Tutić did it better. Except honourable examples of maestro Runjić who seems incapable of writing weak song, the rest of the album suffers from a certain sameness that had already started plaguing her repertoire. 

"The Firebrand" by Marion Zimmer Bradley

Still halfway trough Margaret Atwood's tale of Penelope, I decided to stay in Bronze Age Greece some more and re-visit my old friend Marion Zimmer Bradley who wrote her version of Trojan war as told from perspective of famous Cassandra. Of course, I read Cassandra's story long time ago in the book by German writer Christa Wolf but this one is completely different, because for the start, Zimmer Bradley decides that Cassandra actually survived the war and now lives quietly surrounded with grandchildren who all gather around the fire when travelling minstrel musician starts to sing his odes to Trojan war - old Cassandra is angry at him, no this are all lies, this is not how it happened - and from there on we dive into her life story that paints completely different picture.

Its interesting and inevitable to compare Atwood and Zimmer Bradley as they both write stories set in the same age and geographic frame. Both describe something that happened thousands of years ago, the stories so distant and far away that nowadays are remembered only trough the mist of mythology. Both sarcastically comment on myths and conclude that reality was far more mundane (Odyssey did not encounter one eyed giant but one eyed tavern keeper, sirens were nothing more than prostitutes, etc) and both point at the strong women who had to comply with men having all the power but only outwardly. Atwood's Penelope is clever, manipulative and capable but she needs to act as weak woman in order that her husband feels powerful. Even at the very end, when Penelope finally lies in bed with her long lost husband, she is aware that both of them lied so much to everybody that who knows would they lie to each other? "Then he told me how much he’d missed me, and how he’d been filled with longing for me even when enfolded in the white arms of goddesses; and I told him how very many tears I’d shed while waiting twenty years for his return, and how tediously faithful I’d been, and how I would never have even so much as thought of betraying his gigantic bed with its wondrous bedpost by sleeping in it with any other man.The two of us were – by our own admission – proficient and shameless liars of long standing. It’s a wonder either one of us believed a word the other said. But we did. Or so we told each other."

Zimmer Bradley is completely different kind of writer, though - if Atwood style is almost hallucinatory, dreamy and white as Elgin Marbles, Zimmer Bradley paints the picture with bold, fierce and colourful strokes. This is not to say that one is better than another, just simply to point they both have completely different qualities. Oranges and Apples. Atwood makes you swoon when she describes how ghosts of Penelope and Helene walk around Hades, Zimmer Bradley keeps you awake long into the night as she describes Cassandra's life, brutal reality of Greek cities and (right now) Amazon warriors who fiercely and proudly live their lives somewhere far away in the mountains. So far Gods show up just sporadically but we know they are different and very powerful than ordinary mortals, although they appear in human form (but there is always something wrong about that, we simply feel they are Gods). Cassandra's twin brother is still shepherd fostered far away from Troy but we know he would grow up into Paris and ultimately bring disaster to the city. It is not really the story - we are all familiar with it - but the way Zimmer Bradley tells it, that makes it so hugely enjoyable and interesting. It makes me wonder why did I wait so long to start reading it, because I was sure that it would appeal to me (her "The Mists of Avalon" is beloved classic worth re-visiting). The book is dedicated to the memory of Mary Renault and I guess Renault (in her time famous and influential writer of historical novels) must be my next choice. 

"Penelopiad" by Margaret Atwood

My very first introduction to Margaret Atwood came in mid-1990s when I lived in London and found every single magazine praising her latest novel "Alias Grace" (which eventually won Booker prize) and that novel was really good. I mean, so good that I bought several copies and gave them away, Atwood was my major discovery back than. Along the way I also read "The Handmaid's Tale", "The Robber Bride" and "Blind Assasin"  but something about the last title bothered me a little bit, I don't recall exactly what it was (the main character?) in any case, something cooled off a bit inside me and Atwood was from than on not in the front but more at the back of my mind as something to check out eventually again. Obviously I loved her writing - she had very recognizable voice - but got distracted elsewhere and now this book is a long overdue.

I was raised on Greek mythology - not that anyone really pointed me to that direction, I came to it completely by myself and loved the interaction between gods and humans - so naturally something like "Penelopiad" would appeal to me. It would still be on my to-read list if it didn't simply happened that book found me - without any particular plan or reason, I browsed the ship's library and there it was, "Penelopiad" like I just ordered it. Well, this was obviously the sign and I dived immediately, purring with pleasure to hear that familiar voice again - Atwood really has her own way with words, slightly surrealistic perhaps, she is kind of writer you can quickly recognise almost like a voice in a crowd. Not unlike "liad" and the "Odyssey", this "Penelopiad" approaches Greek mythology from different angle, this is the story of faithful Penelope told from her perspective and interspersed with chilling chorus of slave girls. Anonymous, voiceless slave girls who eventually all got killed by Odyssey upon his return home and trough centuries we were left to believe this was some kind of punishment but Atwood has different version to tell. She turns to other sources beside Homer for more information who Penelope might have been and what was her family background, until the real person from flesh & blood emerges from fantastic world of mythology. It would fit neatly on the shelf with "Homer's daughter" by Robert Graves and "Cassandra" by Christa Wolf except that in my world Atwood rates higher than they do. She is not just re-creating far gone days of Bronze age but weaving the magic web of fantasy and in fact the whole novel reads like a fantasy novel, just dreamy and cloudy, wonderful. Come to think of it, of all the writers that I know, Atwood is perhaps closest to great Italo Calvino. 

"Voyagers of Titanic" by Richard Davenport-Hines

Recently I read Walter Lord's classic "A Night to Remember" published in 1950s and so far undisputedly best account of what actually happened on that fatal voyage - it was a thrilling (and chilling) read, however since its been a century now, lots of new literature connected with "Titanic" came along and this is one that caught my attention. As title suggest, "Voyagers of Titanic" takes just a slightly different approach and instead of following, prelude, disaster and aftermath, it focuses primarily on people who were there - in a way, it also explains the atmosphere of the world back than, strict class divisions and social distinctions where first and second class of passengers were completely isolated from the poorest, third class. What comes as infuriating and eye opening is the treatment of so called "lower classes" who simply happened to have been mainly immigrants in search of new beginning - privileged passengers socialized amongst themselves only and occasionally just for the sport, would dive into third class to gape at unlucky, poor people like they are in zoo. (Of course, third class could definitely not respond with the same hobby and simply waltz trough the luxurious first class just for fun of it).

At the time of "Titanic" disaster media focused exclusively on the death of rich & famous and how gentlemen gave their spots in life boats to women and children.

The majority of third class immigrants were completely ignored, like they were not important and in a way this shows the whole social atmosphere of the times: the world bowed to the wealthy and only talked about them. It took a lot of time and changes and now today we see things differently, we wonder what about all those silent voices of Swedes, Italians, Armenians and Finnish unfortunate people (often the whole families who took relatives and cousins along) that history forgot and media ignored? Painstakingly and with great care, almost like archaeologist unearthing story that has been hidden for too long, author Richard Davenport-Hines goes trough every single passenger trough the first, second and third class, explaining whey did they came from, where were they going and what happened not only trough the sinking but even aftermath. Sure, we all know about rich & famous, but what about the rest of the crowd - here is where Davenport-Hines connect the dots, telling the story of the whole society trough lives of unfortunate victims and survivors. Did you know that surprisingly large amount of "Titanic" survivors never recovered from feeling of guilt because they survived and several of them committed suicide? 

Some interesting parts of the book:

“A wonderfully quick trip,” wrote Edith Wharton after crossing first class on a liner from New York to Cherbourg with over a thousand other souls: “Literally not a human being on board with whom to exchange a word.”

"Money made the difference. Contrast the contents of the pockets of two Titanic corpses recovered from the ocean: John Jacob Astor IV (“Colonel Jack”), the richest man on board, had $4,000 in sodden notes in his pockets; but the jacket of Vassilios Katavelas, a nineteen-year-old Greek farmworker, had more meager treasures: a pocket mirror, a comb, a purse containing ten cents, and a train ticket to Milwaukee."

It is still unbelievably poignant and fascinating story, but today we might see it from different perspective - nowadays we actually care for the third class passengers and unlike majority of public back than, we are not blinded by wealth and entitlements, we do care for the fates of all those unfortunate people who just happened to be on "Titanic" because other ships were on strike. Since I work in a cruise industry, everything connected with "Titanic" have strong effect on me (yes, I read this book while sailing around Halifax where "Titanic" victims were buried - and even visited the cemetery) but not just from some morbid curiosity, its because life boats, drills, captain's announcements and life at sea are my reality. My roommate actually survived sinking of Italian "Costa" ship (and is back on the ships, I think for me that would be enough). I still love Walter Lord's classic but Davenport-Hines in his way might be the last word on the subject. It is very detailed and extremely well researched book.

When Titans meet

Discovered this photo by chance and was startled to realise how these four guys - all of them looking very relaxed and almost like any group of friends that just finished quick drink in a bar - four Titans of Croatian popular music who each in their own way grew up to be very important, were actually young men caught here in the moment, on a sunny day right at the corner where streetcar turns from Jurišićeva street into the main square. It couldn't be more ordinary than walk trough the city centre, this particular spot where hardly anyone stands still - this is where you either go on the square or from it elsewhere, unless you really, really want an ice cream (on the right) - and here they are, four legends walking together, in fact two of them are just finishing their cigarettes, almost as someone said "OK guys finish these smokes and let's move".

Very reluctantly I must accept that at this point I am probably middle-aged and almost daily I am aware that movie & music stars in newspapers are without exception young kids. That some slightly shop-worn person looks at me from the mirror comes as annoyance, but obviously its inevitable. So to see these four friends together comes as a sweet surprise. My guess is that photo was taken some time in early 1960s, very probably during either festivals Zagreb '62 or Zagreb '63 when all of them were involved. First on the left (and conspicuously dressed) is singer Vice Vukov than at the very start of his career, next to him - finishing their cigarettes - are singer veteran Ivo Robić who at that time was such indisputably big star that he could give all of them lessons how to behave in business and composer/arranger Nikica Kalogjera who will rule music market next decade, last one on the right is very young and skinny Arsen Dedić who looks completely adorable as young, starving geek he was at the time. They stand here in the sun, completely oblivious to the fact that in the future they will grow up to be giants of Croatian music - all of them except Robić have their greatest success still in the future. Its such beautiful, sweetly nostalgic photo that I could easily imagine meeting them here accidentally and stopping by for a chat, how are you doing guys, what are you up to, lets grab the beer somewhere around the corner.

"Ljupka" by Ljupka Dimitrovska (1975)

Recent news about passing of Ljupka Dimitrovska signals farewell from the whole generation of entertainers that ruled TV variety shows back in 1970s.

As a child, I couldn't even imagine Sunday afternoons or New Year shows without names like Dimitrovska, Ivica Šerfezi, Krunoslav Kićo Slabinac, Duško Lokin or Zdenka Vučković - all of them stars of than popular pop festivals that reflected taste of times. Neither time nor critics were nice to them - this kind of music was light, breezy and entertaining, decidedly unpretentious and its huge mass appeal meant that critics usually dismissed it because it was (gasp) entertaining instead of life-affirming, dark and brooding. Sure, it makes you wonder how respected artists like Arsen Dedić or Josipa Lisac rubbed elbows in the very same TV shows with colleagues named above, but in reality they were never seen as entertainers and besides, apparently there was place for everybody. 

Where in previous decade, "Jugoton" output focused on EP recordings with various artists, the 1970s saw first LP albums by single artists, not to mention hit singles promoted on popular pop festivals - Dimitrovska and her brand of sunny pop happened to be huge sellers, embraced by large portion of TV variety show audiences so it was just a matter of time before lady got her own LP album, which collected most of the previous hit singles from 1969 up to that point and added newest, peppy "Ljutit će se moja majka" from festival Zagreb '75. It was all masterminded by her husband Nikica Kalogjera who as composer/arranger/producer perfectly tailored material for the lively little blonde, spotlighting her charm and giving her happy, memorable refrains that translated into smash hits. 

It might seem deceptively simple and lightweight, but lots of talents collaborated behind this juggernaut: no less than Arsen Dedić, Ivica Krajač and Željko Sabol came with lyrics (all of them very respectable names), while Dr.Kalogjera lined up hit after hit, many of them winners of festivals at home and abroad. The success of this kind of music has to do also with geographical position - traditionally closer to European schlager and Eurovision, country was quick to embrace brassy, orchestrated candies, in fact not only all of this sounds to my ears like "Puppet on a string" but Dimitrovska had actually recorded song back in a day (and there is one called "Marioneta" even on this album). Smiling and peppy singer was naturally kids favorite (often paired with Ivica Šerfezi), toured successfully and this album was just a start of incredibly successful chapter - for the rest of 1970s she went on from strength to strength, with even bigger hits still coming up after this album. Later, when this kind of music inevitably fell out of fashion, Dimitrovska and her duet partner found welcome market in Germany where their songs about Adriatic Sea, sun and wine won over completely new audience (German connection is not a coincidence, as this kind of music was always very popular there). As new generations pushed the older ones sideways, their music might appear completely dated afterwards but this is destiny of most of pop music anyway. In her time, Dimitrovska gave lots of warmth and love to the world and this is how she will be remembered. 

"Moj Slatki Grad" by Ljupka Dimitrovska (1968)

Just heard that Ljupka Dimitrovska have passed away at the age of 71. 

Dimitrovska might have been away from public for some time now, but at the highlight of her career back in 1970s she was one of the biggest music superstars back home and her hit singles sold in huge quantities. In fact, she might have been that curious 1970s phenomenon that simply caught people's attention and reflected Zeitgeist - little children adored sunny, smiling blondie Dimitrovska who carefully created image of "perpetual little girl" and was constant mainstay of variety TV shows. For all that commercial success, her kiddie pop did not age well and never experienced revival or re-evaluation like some of her contemporaries. Her old records must be taken in the context of their time, when wholesome appeal was accepted by wide audiences not only at home but as far as Germany and Soviet Union, often in duets with Ivica Šerfezi and masterminded by husband/arranger/producer/composer Nikica Kalogjera who already had respectable career until finally he struck gold with string of easy listening, lively hits tailored for his young wife. Perhaps all that 1970s sweetness might dumbfound today's listeners used to more aggressive and bombastic approach, but don't forget that in her time Dimitrovska brought lot of love and music to people who lived trough "Čibu čiba", "Klik klak", "Zvoni zvon", "Ne igraj se sa mnom" or "Ostaje nam muzika". That public taste would eventually change was inevitable but occasional old song might still surprise you on oldies radio and it does uplift the spirits immediately, because Dimitrovska was all about the happiness and spark. 

One of the most interesting recordings in her discography is this old, forgotten EP created long before Dimitrovska came to attention of her future Pygmalion husband. It was released not by her future recording company "Jugoton" but by Belgrade's PGP RTB and presents young singer as potential 1960s pop songbird covering four hits from international charts - even back than, it was evident that she has potential in what would be the best described as "bubble gum" pop so her sunny image was matched with Lee Hazlewood's "Sugar town" and material originally recorded by Lulu and young Marianne Faithfull. It is still sugary, unmistakably Ljupka Dimitrovska record and much more contemporary (no wonder, as it covers British hits) than what followed, since later hits written for her by husband leaned more towards German "schlager" and he might even be responsible for coming up with that particular Adria sound that tourists forever associated with vacations on Adriatic sea. Because its so different from what she was doing later, this is perhaps the most interesting recording in her catalogue - it shows that with different collaborators she might have been more interested in the sound of girl groups and perhaps even Motown, however life had different plans for her and the music she left behind was firmly planted in central Europe, lot of it tailored specifically to German-language audiences. Never seriously taken by music critics, Dimitrovska's biggest crime appears to have been her sunny disposition and wholesome image but in hindsight, being remembered as happy and cheerful brave little person is not bad at all. In her own way, Dimitrovska might have shown far more strength and backbone than dozen of other people.

"Dajem ti srce" by Doris Dragović (1992)

How strange, I honestly don't remember any pop music being recorded or released at this time, right in the middle of civil war - after all, I was there, right in the middle of it and yes, there was anti-war music and occasional battle call ("Čavoglave", anyone?), anthems and prayers, TV video clips with burning cities, Croatian Band Aid with the song that was always played during air raids, Tomislav Ivčić with his "Stop the war in Croatia" but in general entertainment was not priority at that time and music was either used to uplift the spirits of people hiding in the basements or to reflect national sentiment that was focused on local tradition - it was time of sudden revival of ancient instrument tamburitza. 

But here it is, full blown pop album recorded in early 1990s just as we were all either packing away to the front or returning from it. For a singer who had built her career on folk-pop, this was a very slippery territory as suddenly anything that even hinted at eastern neighbours had to be changed - I clearly remember working at the radio at the time and Serbian artists were strictly forbidden - ever capable composer Zrinko Tutić quickly adapted to new situation and served singer with more pronounced sound of Dalmatia, previous Serbian lyrics writer was out, Gibonni came with politically correct title song and there was even very pretty, old fashioned tamburitza ballad. This was actually welcome change for singer Doris Dragović - whatever the political situation might have been, whatever reality she had to face in her everyday life, it is true that her work recently showed signs of repetition and when compared to her previous albums, this one comes as a breath of fresh air. The music is conventional Dalmatian melodic fare where singer sounds comfortable and her own tamburitza song "Ti si moja ljubav stara" is actually very beautiful indeed. Greek and Italian covers were added towards the end, almost as afterthought but I guess nobody could find fault with Manos Hadjidakis or "La Riva Bianca, La Riva Nera". Good job, Mr. Tutić.

"Explosion in Halifax Harbour: The Illustrated Account of a Disaster That Shook the World" by David B. Flemming

This is something I found out because of my travels - Halifax is one of the places my ship visits regularly and somewhere along the way I heard that this was the place of terrible tragedy, kind of Hiroshima before Hiroshima. When I read the book, I was startled with the sheer scope of explosion that completely wiped Halifax and its people.

Right in the middle of WW1, sleepy little town of Halifax witnessed collision of two ships in the port.

One of them was Norwegian SS Imo, another French SS Mont-Blanc that was bound for Europe and full of highly flammable explosives, packed for the delivery in France. In normal circumstances, the ship full of explosives would not even be allowed close to populated area but this was in the middle of the war so regulations were not so strict. It was just another clear December morning, with local people minding their business and kids going to school, nobody expected anything out of ordinary, when two ships - for reasons that even today nobody can really explain - collided in port of Halifax and very soon SS Mont-Blanc caught fire, ramming into pier right in the middle of Richmond district where locals gathered in curiosity to watch the ship in flames. Resulting explosion was so powerful that it completely erased Richmond district and all the people, destroying big part of Halifax in process and survivors didn't even understand what hit them. In fact, at first people thought it was German attack (as this was in the middle of WW1) but the worst thing is that this was not a war zone, this actually happened in far away little Canadian sleepy port where all these civilians were far removed from any front lines. Survivors remembered the strength of explosion and what they did at the moment - one boy was playing with toy car at the window sill (he got blinded by the glass), another was going to school, one girl was blown far away from her family home and returned to find house and its inhabitants erased forever, the vicar was standing at the door while his wife and daughter played piano (he never saw them again), in short people lived perfectly ordinary lives on that cold Thursday morning when sudden explosion completely changed their lives forever.

Tragedy could have been ever worse if train dispatcher Patrick Coleman didn't send a warnings to incoming trains about ship full of explosive on fire - he died while sending telegraphs, knowing that new train is supposed to arrive any moment. The train from Richmond stopped immediately in a safe distance and some 300 people survived only because of Coleman. Boston immediately sent train full of medical staff that helped survivors and army searched for possible survivors amongst the ruins of completely destroyed city - this is why even today, traditionally, Halifax always sends Christmas tree to Boston. What always deeply moves me are photographs of so called mortuary bags - many of the bodies were later identified by what they had in their pockets and these items were placed in numbered cotton bags. One of such cotton bags had few pencils, marble ball and pencil eraser, this belonged to seven year old little boy who was going to the school, completely unaware of disaster that would soon destroy the whole town and take his life. One of the surviving baby orphans would later become major of Halifax. 

Halifax today is a very beautiful little city and I just marvel at the fact that so many of my passengers walk around completely clueless that this place was completely destroyed almost century ago. I have serious intention to check out few more books about this tragedy.

"Nije li lažan tvoj mir" by Marko Novosel

Across the Atlantic, Rock had already completely changed the music map and challenged the showbiz veterans, however good old Europe still thrived on heavily orchestrated institutions like San Remo festival. Even Italians managed to shock San Remo audiences with their own Rock-influenced "screamers" (Adriano Celentano and Mina) but back home in sleepy little Croatia we were still not ready for Rock and our pop stars were gentle crooners who idolised Italian nightingales like mighty Claudio Villa. Come to think of it, majority of continental Europe still listened safe, mainstream light pop where Italian Bel Canto tradition held the centre stage and gates were firmly shut to anything that might family audiences. Villa, of course, was a God amongst the best Italian singers and his shadow covered the whole continent - even in Netherlands, Willy Alberti made a splash with his recordings of Italian repertoire. 

In Croatia, the best of all the young singers was Marko Novosel who had not only superb diction but spectacularly beautiful, ringing tenor voice and obvious love for Bel Canto Italian masters. If older Ivo Robić was our own Sinatra, young Novosel (than in his early 20s) was a fairytale prince with a golden voice and charisma that resulted in stardom. Considering that local discography was still at the very early stage, it is no coincidence that Novosel performed on every major festival, was amongst first singers to have his own solo recordings and in fact, recording companies used his appeal to pair him with every single female singer around. On this particular recording, young Marko Novosel sings covers of Italian ballads and is backed by impeccable orchestrated arrangements by Croatian composer, arranger, conductor and producer Nikica Kalogjera (who was 29 himself). They might be just Croatian version of Italian recordings but they are truly beautiful and singers voice is almost intoxicating. The recording oozes elegance, sophistication and class.