"Comes the Blind Fury" by John Saul

Perhaps the point could be made - since I am obviously really enjoying this year's excursion into horror genre - that I am going back to my adolescent years when my reading choices (completely informed by what public libraries in my hometown had to offer) went for best-selling, pulse-racing, fast-moving titles of likes as Sidney Sheldon or Harold Robbins. I gobbled them all, without ever remembering anything about them except that they kept me awake until dawn. And now, after years of reading all kinds of things, I have suddenly re-discovered that forgotten excitement of being completely lost in a plot - even knowing and fully understanding that this might not be (with exception of wonderful Shirley Jackson) not exactly a earth-shaking, life-affirming literary masterpiece but for me reading is all about escapism anyway.

After Peter Ackroyd's interesting but, frankly, complex history of England (at certain point I just lost the focus with the long list of kings who were slaying, poisoning, arresting and murdering each predecessor) I wanted something completely different so browsing trough my virtual library I decided to check this 1980 horror bestseller which seems like something my younger self would love. "Comes the Blind Fury" is a clever combination of two horror sub-genres, haunted house and ghost story - the main antagonist is the ghost of a blind girl who lived in Paradise Point a century ago and is now full of blind fury in order to revenge her death, caused by evil schoolchildren. In present time, the new family (the Pendletons) comes to town and as they settle in a spacious, old house, we became aware that something is wrong about this place, in fact with these local people as well. Twelve year old Michelle is overjoyed to discover an old porcelain doll in her room and immediately gives her name Amanda, getting closer to the doll than to her little school friends - as it happens, we soon find out that this is the name from a local gravestone and true identity of the blind girl who disappeared a century ago. Strange things start happening, the porcelain doll whispers into Michelle's ears, local schoolchildren start dying and it all gets seriously gripping - even with my daily workload I managed to gulp the novel in two days - its not exactly a literary masterpiece but rather a very enjoyable escape from reality and kind of the novel I would loved back in my teens (apparently, part of me still loves this kind of psycho thriller). It's all very cleverly done and has enough chill factor to keep the reader glued to the very last page. Where the epilogue neatly suggest that the story is far from over. 

"The Colour Out of Space" by H. P. Lovecraft

Confession: I am still reading Peter Ackroyd and his history of England, enjoying it very much and its all fine, except that at certain point I found myself bothered with my electronic reader - it is not exactly Kindle but some mutant, inexpensive version that I bought thinking this will not appeal to me anyway - and perhaps I stuffed the poor thing too much or crammed too many books inside, in any case it shows very unpredictable behavior, with pages switching between being beautifully clear and white, into muddled grey just the next page. It bothers me so much that I am seriously considering just erasing everything from it and having one book at the time on it, if this is the case. But it hinders my enjoyment in reading Ackroyd's book so just out of curiosity I had a peek at a short story by American cult writer Howard Phillips Lovecraft (short stories being my new discovery) who spent all his life in penniless obscurity, just to get praise, recognition and heaps of admirers posthumously, as it usually happens. 

I knew just a little bit about Lovecraft, as apparently he was hugely influential and everywhere you look, famous authors bow to his memory in awe but I never actually read him, expecting it to be something dark, creepy and nightmarish. This afternoon, exhausted with this silly electronic machine that works against me and obviously is asking to be thrown into garbage + Iceland is all covered with black clouds and howling winds even though its officially summer, something inspired me to check the short story "The Colour Out of Space" that is supposed to be one of Lovecraft's best things ever. 

Lo and behold - thunder & lightings - MGM lion roaring - this is actually excellent!

It is just as I expected, dark, creepy and nightmarish but it got all my attention completely. I actually got real goosebumps just reading this not-so-short story (apparently the concept of short story is very vague, it can be anything from one page to dozen of them) and you can bet that tonight after work, I will read it again with the biggest pleasure. I have mentioned earlier that 2017 is the year when I discovered brilliant Shirley Jackson but it seems that Lovecraft is right there with her as another excellent discovery of horror genre - completely different, naturally, he is more creepy and nightmarish but it seems that I really might enjoy his work. (I have this very vague memory of actually reading him, could it be that I actually already read something by Lovecraft? Expedition in some isolated, ice covered place?) In any case, can't wait to discover more of his work. Strangely enough, somehow without noticing, this is also a year when I suddenly turned my attention to short stories - something I never done before - completely spontaneously I found myself reading several short stories by various authors and they were without exception very memorable. 

This particular short story is very famous as perfect example of Lovecraft's writing as it combines science fiction and horror. It is about unknown evil out of space that terrorizes humans and the scariest thing is how this meteorite (?) is completely alien to our perception, we can't even possibly imagine or understand its origin or motives. Which is actually perfectly logic as our alien visitors might be (in all probability) really alien to us in shape, form or behavior and they intentions could be very harmful indeed. "The Colour Out of Space" happens in wilderness of Massachusetts where landing of strange meteorite resulted in most curious effects on plants, animals and ultimately humans in the vicinity. The story is told from a point of a view of a neighbor (whom everybody finds crazy, but he might just suffer the traumatic experience) and his testimony of what actually happened is extremely chilling. On the other hand, it is a complete treat for a reader as Lovecraft skillfully created a short story masterpiece - he must truly have been inspired with this one - that is timeless and unforgettable.

"Foundation: The History of England from Its Earliest Beginnings to the Tudors" by Peter Ackroyd

Even thought I enjoyed my recent excursions into genre of horror, so far I have not found anybody approaching the brilliance of Shirley Jackson and everybody else came just as an afterthought. Peter Straub, Richard Matheson and Jay Anson were entertaining to the point but there were no thunders and lightnings, burning bushes, bells ringing and overall excitement I felt after reading Jackson, where I would decidedly not immediately move on to another book but still mulled her novels in my mind for days, knowing that the writer like this is unique and probably never to be surpassed again. As noted above, I tried, with lukewarm results. Something in me resisted the idea of simply going back to my old favorites Anne Rice and Stephen King, since I already know them and it would not be a new discovery in a sense Jackson was. 

So I decided to change the gears, so to speak and try completely different kind of literature. Just to take a break from horror. Maybe I will like it even more if I return to it later.

Being obsessive Virgo, I actually made my own reading life difficult now with all these books collected in my virtual library - I have far more that anybody could ever read in a lifetime, neatly arranged by genres, years of publishing, authors and what not. At the first look, it seems like cornucopia, true wealth of all sorts of books that centuries ago some lord would proudly display as a personal library adorning the walls, but now when I'm in the mood for reading it just takes forever to actually decide what is the next step, because obviously I can't read all of them - its impossible - and they are all tantalizing & inviting & suited to my particular tastes. There are classics that I am familiar just in a theory, novels, historical books, biographies, thrillers, westerns, books about religion, even a collection of children literature I promise myself to read. Books about art, cinema, essays, food & drink, historical fiction, music, mythology, non fiction, poetry, science and science fiction (something I am completely ignorant about), collections of short stories, books about slavery in America, self-help, spiritual books, books about theatre, travelogues and list goes on forever. In order to make my life easier, I have actually written down the list what to read but it felt unnecessary self-restricting, like I am confining myself to only a handful of titles out of hundreds, where the joy of reading partly is in the impulsive choice, spur of the moment. 

Out of all this, my new choice happened to be British writer Peter Ackroyd - who might be very famous, celebrated and important in his native country but I wouldn't know him from a hole in the wall, except that the list of this work actually appeals to me a lot. It seems that he balances between serious history books and fictional novels inspired by history, which is something I always loved, being a history geek. Just before I made up my mind, I listened the episode of my beloved Desert Island Disc with Ackroyd as a guest, to decide what kind of person he might be (some of these famous guests actually ended up being highly unlikable in my opinion) - he passed my test with flying colors, being delightfully sweet, charming, slightly eccentric and obviously full of ideas, I kind of liked even the tone of his voice and off-the-wall music choices he selected for his desert island (amongst others, a 1908. recording that used to be sung to him by his grandmother and Fats Waller) and once I made up my mind that this is someone interesting, I dived into his first volume of history of England.

I actually might know bit and pieces about this subject relatively better than ordinary, proverbial man on the street since I always loved books about the history and wikipedia is obviously my best friend, but still, not being British my educational background was actually more focused on different geographical areas, closer to home. I did some research and found the large gap in my knowledge between Celtic druids and infamous Tudors, with literary hundreds of names unknown to me - since I am only vaguely familiar with Plantagenet royal dynasty, Ackroyd's first volume of history of England actually seemed like a perfect choice because this is exactly what it covers, the period from Stonehenge to Tudors, just what I need. 

This is probably what traveling on a flying carpet must feel like, since Ackroyd takes his reader trough centuries - he is delightful storyteller who occasionally drops little anecdotes all over the place and you can tell he not only researched all of this very well but also probably edited it all, just to make sure its not too dry or confusing. It is actually extremely easy to read, nothing like dry history books we used to suffer in the school - but because the nature of such book is serious, its not something you can just read lightly and breezy, I actually focused extremely hard in order not to lose the plot about various predecessors and successors and could only read so much at once. For the first time I actually kind of get the chronological perspective of all this historical tapestry, which is fascinating. Maybe I would like just a little bit more about lives of ordinary people and less about royalty, but I understand that royalty was better documented. 

"Of two men in close alliance it was written that singuli caccant uno ano or ‘they shit out of the same arse’."

"Game of Thrones: Season 7"

Oh joy, oh joy, it started again!

The best TV series I had encountered in my entire life is back again and it is the only series where I didn't get tired after initial first two seasons but it just gets better and better with time. There are some people who told me they just can't get into it and dismiss it for expecting its something about magic and swords, but its not like that at all - yes, its all happening in the fictional world, continents of  Westeros and Essos but if you can't accept something that has been created with such brilliant inspiration and imagination as George R. R. Martin's series of epic fantasy novels, well in that case this is simply not for you and you can go back to the same old detective/crime/car crash TV shows that we see all the time. I actually don't understand how can anyone dislike "Game of Thrones" because it is so gripping, fascinating and perfect in any way that once you get involved in all that plots and subplots that are happening on various parts of the empire, its impossible not to follow it with a religious zest.

I probably wrote this earlier and I will repeat it again - "Game of Thrones" is completely revolutionary and it became deservedly a world wide phenomenon because it changed the concept of invincible hero who slays armies and always comes out without a ruffled hair. In the world of Seven Kingdoms danger is constantly in the air, there are zillion of Byzantine-like intrigues and nobody is invincible - every single person might get killed just when you least expect it so it eventually became sort of huge roman arena with main characters fighting for survival. George R. R. Martin got inspiration for some real life historical stories ("Red wedding" actually happened in medieval Scotland, the idea of a great ice wall protecting the kingdom is actually Hadrian's Wall and so on) and if you think TV adaptations are excellent, you should try the novels - they are even better in a sense of having more characterisations and details, but for once I have no problem with this and love both novels and TV series. 

At first - I still remember my initial reaction - I found all of this too complicated. There were apparently hundreds of characters spread all over the kingdom and than we had completely another story happening in the other continent so I would get all fidgety every time Khaleesi came on the screen with all her Dothraki warriors and dragons because it seemed like unimportant subplot that just slows down the main story - but after a while I got it all, memorized who is who, got addicted to the story and even started to enjoy Khaleesi specially as it became clear that her story is not just a meandering but it leads to certain very important connections with the mainland. Because there are so many characters (and they are dying like flies all over the place) it seems that sometimes they drift in and out of the focus - there were times when we were very interested in for example, clever dwarf Tyrion Lannister, crippled boy Bran Stark, the eunuch spymaster Lord Varys or fantastic female warrior Brienne of Tarth (just to name a few) but than suddenly we don't hear anything about them for a while, because story changes the course into something else and we might glimpse them much later. Anybody remembers young blacksmith Gendry who in reality was King's Robert Baratheon real son? And what about exiled knight Ser Jorah Mormont who got that terrible disease and just disappeared afterwards? Vengeful Ellaria Sand and her daughters once appeared as potentially very important fraction against Lannisters and now we don't see them anymore. I could go on like this for a while, but I trust that creators of TV series understand all of this and will eventually connect all the dots at some point. Since until now there were only five of George R. R. Martin's original novels, the story continues without actually having literary background but it is clear that HBO producers know where they are going.

Having to wait a year for the new season mean that I was a bit anxious about will I actually remember where the story ended the last time around - as it happened, I had no problem with it at all, in fact as it season 7 started, the very first scene brought me back just where I needed to be and I enjoyed the first episode with a great passion, watching it twice and even re-watching some of my favourite scenes. I laughed out loud at  Samwell Tarly antics and shivered at the sight of The Night King and the White Walkers, loved to see all the familiar characters again and just wishing the episode was twice as long, so we could have bit more about ones we missed. I love this series so much that I could watch (and read) it all over again, from the start. 

"For a Five-Year-Old" by Fleur Adcock

A snail is climbing up the window-sill

into your room, after a night of rain.

You call me in to see, and I explain

that it would be unkind to leave it there:

it might crawl to the floor; we must take care

that no one squashes it. You understand,

and carry it outside, with careful hand,

to eat a daffodil.

I see, then, that a kind of faith prevails:

your gentleness is moulded still by words

from me, who have trapped mice and shot wild birds,

from me, who drowned your kittens, who betrayed

your closest relatives, and who purveyed

the harshest kind of truth to many another.

But that is how things are: I am your mother,

and we are kind to snails.

"The Amityville Horror" by Jay Anson

This will be the year when I suddenly (and unexpectedly) turned my attention to genre of horror. There is nothing wrong with it, except that previously I had completely different ideas, thinking that I will spend time reading classics, soaking some wisdom and maybe exploring science fiction genre but it didn't work that way. First, I found out that I simply wasn't in the mood for the long-winded novels (sorry "Gil Blas" it will happen another time), second with all my neat lists and arranging books by genres, there is actually a pleasure in random choice and as it happens, Shirley Jackson was really a discovery - excellent writer with a good grasp of human psychology - finally I realised there is someone else out there besides Stephen King and Anne Rice, so I went on to check Richard Matheson and now this book that was huge phenomenon back in 1977 and inspired long list of haunted-house movies.

It all depends is the haunted house genre your cup of tea at all - personally I find that Shirley Jackson created such a masterpiece with her "The Haunting of Hill House"  that its really hard (impossible?) to even attempt competing with such brilliant, multi-faceted and multi-layered, ambiguous creation that has power to thrill even today, 59 years after it was first published. Than there is a matter of certain limitations of haunted house genre, after all, so far we were dealing with very much the same frame: somebody (gullible family) moves in a space that is full of demons, ghosts and malevolent poltergeists and starting from there, chapter in, chapter out, we follow how the characters gets spooked and freaked out until a) they run, b) priest comes and sprinkles holy water, c) someone else talks to ghosts and explains there is a grave under the kitchen floor. It was all extremely exciting when I was a teenager but it eventually became an old hat, I mean, we have seen cliché after cliché in every single movie and book so many times that we started to wonder is there any other way the story could be poked,without using same old plot.

"The Amityville Horror" is a guilty pleasure. I had to admit that in my naivety (and absolute lack of any preconception of what am I getting into) I actually took all of this very seriously, reading it long into the night and getting all very excited about things that go bump into the night. Than I read the supposed background of the story and apparently universal public dismissal of the even possibility that George and Kathy Lutz actually lived trough all of this, kind of cooled my excitement, which, looking back in retrospective now I think it was wrong of me - I should just enjoy it as a work of fiction and not bothering to know other people's opinions. It's fairly gripping story (except that somewhere halfway trough I started noticing that it could have been better edited) and since apparently I kept the lifelong fascination with the subject, this is exactly kind of novel that keeps me awake in the night. Perhaps instead of criticising it, readers should just enjoy it for what it is - escapism, fun, thrill of it - after all, we are not looking into haunted house novel to find out some deep, meaningful ideas or truths. 

Anjezë Gonxhe Bojaxhiu

Young Anjezë Gonxhe Bojaxhiu before the world knew her as Mother Teresa.

Accustomed to the vision of elderly nun in a white & blue sari, we might be surprised to discover that she was actually young once - like everybody else, probably full of ideals, dreams and ideas how to change the world. We are all like that and than something changes where instead of changing the world around us, we become entangled in the web of professional and personal obligations (sometimes pure survival) where the world outside matters less and less, until one morning we find ourselves looking at the stranger in a mirror and wondering whatever happen to that once young person inside, who used to be so passionate about rights and wrongs. 

Well, Mother Teresa never lost that - she might have faced all sorts of private doubts and sorrows just like everyone of us, but instead of focusing on herself (like the majority of the adults) she put all of her energy and efforts into changing the world trough helping the others. Even now, when she is officially proclaimed saint, there are detractors who criticise her for one thing or another (most often, for being religious) but I have only respect for the person with such strong convictions - let it not be forgotten that Mother Teresa and her nuns initially actually begged on the streets for food and supplies that later they would give away to the poorest. In fact, the more you read about her, the more impressed one gets with such a strong sense of her role in life. People often make fun of things they don't understand but there is nothing funny about choosing life of poverty in order to help humanity. 

I love this picture and think its wonderful. 

Thousands posts of "Voyager's World"

Lo and behold, I just noticed that this blog had already passed its considerable mark, so without really paying attention or thinking about it, "Voyager's world" now officially have more than thousand posts. I started writing here in 2008 and the shaky beginning (it seems that the second year was the most challenging as I couldn't make up my mind is this something really worth creating) eventually became a comforting routine and a pleasant experience.

In all honesty, it's absolutely not about having an audience of anonymous readers, followers and groupies - what it is comes down to the lifelong passion for reading that at certain point extended to impulse for writing, so yours truly have a decades worth of diaries scattered around and left like snake skins, chapters of the years and experiences gone by. Who knows where all these diaries actually are but it might be interesting to glance at them and see my younger self thinking, feeling and finding his way trough the world. So yes, I still occasionally write a diary when inclined, but just like this blog, it is a process of relaxed, purring pleasure when you take a time for yourself - quality time - to stop and reflect on life around you, what makes you happy or moves you. What inspires you. 

At the very beginning, I wasn't so sure about writing something that is basically my own, personal experience and putting it out for the whole world to see. Perhaps that is why the earliest posts were rare and extremely cautious, since the idea seemed so self-centred and narcissistic. I definitely didn't want my own soap box, the pedestal where one stands and rants at the state of the world. Look at me! This is what I think about current situation! Me, me and only me and nobody else except me!  What did appeal to me was the possibility to have things neatly arranged in my own virtual universe, boxes ticked with their subjects, quintessential Virgo always putting everything in order. As trivial as my interests might be - all these books, moves and music obviously mean a lot to me and they are my hobby, my pleasure, my inspiration. At certain point in life, a person simply accept this is my life, this is who I am and even if you put me on a one-way spaceship bound for far away corner of the seventh galaxy, in my spare time I will probably find the time for my hobbies. Classic black and white movies, obscure & forgotten singers, new books, new voices. 

First it was very simple - I would list the movies, the books, the music, all my new discoveries, things that I liked, some that I disliked. Sometimes I would even go back and correct it, since the initial impression might change with time. Indeed, often I might think that my opinion was too harsh, let's smooth it out just a little bit. Than with time, I start adding different subjects - why not? - how about occasional poem or an essay about the painting that I love. Of course, since my profession takes me around the world, there must be a space for occasional travelogue but although the name of this blog is Voyager's world my main focus are not daily travels - and I have already travelled the world so much that I have seen more places by accident than some people saw by intention - it comes with profession - but journeys of the spirit. Where exactly the inspiration leads me, be it old Hollywood 1930s movie, the newest literary discovery, the music or whatever. What's cooking inside as opposite to what's going on outside. 

If only I paid attention to the fact that post nr.1000 is coming, I would have planned something wise or poetic, philosophical or showy just to mark that special occasion - you know, to make it somewhat grand, after all it is a perseverance to continue something like writing essays for the nine years, just for the sheer joy of it, without thinking about audience or gain. I couldn't care less about the audience or followers, since this is purely my own musing (and it often satisfies me in a completely childish way, if the essay turned good) and since there are no deadlines and pressures, I only write it when everything is relaxed and smooth. Writing diary - or blog as here - is purely personal little ritual of putting the thoughts in order and reflecting on life, the way I see it. As it happened, the post nr.1000 was not anything grand or spectacular, there were no trumpets or fireworks, because it wasn't important at the moment - in fact, post nr.1000 was about old music festivals in Krapina which is just the way it should be, after all life happens the way it happens and yes, part of pleasure of writing music essays for me is in digging trough archives and unearthing completely obscure, off-the-wall records so yes, Krapina perfectly summarises my perspective. After all, I don't know a simple person who actually listened and analysed records from Krapina festivals, except me - and I did pretty good job of it. 

So, here's to another thousand posts! 

To more black and white movies, more interesting books, more music archaeology, let's keep the brain sharp and keep those coffees coming. Writing this blog became such a beloved ritual that I can't wait for vacation, when the number of the posts usually rises like a tide, since it is than when I am in relaxed mood and have no obligations under the sun. Naturally, its not about the numbers, I am neither counting or racing with the number of the posts, just like with a books that I read trough the year, it's all about experiences and the quality of it. But I do like the idea that maybe there is a technical tweak where I can make this blog completely personal (read: open only for me), I just need to find it out. 

Djúpivogur, Iceland

Who knew? What appeared as the smallest, the least significant port of all places we visited in Iceland this year, turned to be by far the most beautiful.

Reykjavík is of course, a capitol and basically only place most of the people will be familiar with, however outside of capitol Iceland's cities are really very, very tiny and underpopulated - back home, our villages in a countryside probably boast more inhabitants than what Ísafjörður or Akureyri have here. But it is a summer and no matter where you are, its just lovely to have a walk outside in the fresh air so I went out today (fighting laziness) even thought I knew that Djúpivogur has population under 500 (!) and did not expect anything, really.

I guess to the small local population, arrival of our big cruise ship must appear as invasion: 2 000 guests + crew start milling around in confusion, since people are used to have commercial centres, shopping malls, restaurants and such but there's nothing much here really. If you see the world trough prism of commodities and things you can buy, look elsewhere. There is a supermarket, post office and occasional office building I guess, but most of what you see are simply family houses scattered elsewhere and a wonderful feeling of being close to the nature. Almost like a frontier town, a place in extreme wilderness. 

Once you get over the fact that this is not a typical tourist destination and no, you can't buy souvenirs, fridge magnets and trinkets around here (I avoided souvenir shop but there is one if you are inclined so) you need to step out of the box and start thinking differently. What is here to do, than, since obviously there is no shopping malls, Wi Fi, Starbucks, McDonald's and everything we got used to find everywhere? Like Alice, wondering what is the point of the books without pictures, I had to just let it go and enjoy a walk. Step by step I found out that I am leaving layers of my old self behind - first, I switched off the darn music because suddenly I was overwhelmed with the desire to just breathe a fresh mountain air and listen the silence of the nature. Than I started snapping the photos of mountain peaks looming all over the place and daydreaming about the dazzling panorama around me.

Just by walking aimlessly, I discovered this strange work of art called "The Eggs of Merry Bay" (Eggin í Gleðivík) created by the local artist Sigurður Guðmundsson and they represent eggs of the local birds (look closely, they are all different and belong to different species). It is really interesting how the closeness to the nature made locals so sensitive about our world, diversity and beauty - not having all those Starbucks and McDonald's around resulted in people being very creative, more attuned to the life around and yes, I dare to say, more spiritual. Being so far away from big cities and living harmoniously & respectfully with the nature, local people in Djúpivogur (all 500 of them) must have spiritual awareness that is completely alien to anybody crushed in big towns. The mountains, the sea, the open - and in the evening probably starry - sky, this is all so magnificent. Some of my colleagues couldn't even be bothered to go outside "because there is no Wi Fi and no Starbucks and what's the point"  but I just had the best time being so close to the nature, the sea, the wind and simply walking on the grass. I am absolutely sure that if by some chance I end up living here, I would turn completely into nature-loving, tree-hugging pagan who brews the berries and dances under the moonlight.

The best of all was a little private Heaven, absolutely charming private museum & gallery called "Gallery Freevilli" which is on the way to the Eggs monument - just when you stop to admire the most amazing pyramid mountain (I have never seen such a perfect pyramid) out of the blue there is this little gallery which is free of charge, it is a simply a labour of love of its owner (Vilmundur Þorgrímsson) who collects stones, driftwood, minerals, bones and everything from the nature. If you are inclined to buy something, it's fine, but the whole purpose of this is that he loves to show his collection with no other expectations than to share it with people who will appreciate this - bones, sticks, stones, original Icelandic minerals, rocks and fossils, this is his Heaven and he obviously takes great care about his hobby, in fact, everything around the house is arranged and created so lovingly that its clear it took him probably years to built it all. I actually bought a pendant made from Orca Whale bone which caught my attention instantly as I entered the place and for once its something not intended for other people but for myself. There is a wonderfully creative footpath that leads to the top of the hill above the house and this is where Villi created stone figures who are representing people looking at the sea - mothers, daughters, children waiting for the sailors to return. Willi also has a lovely dog who delights in catching the ball - I told Willi that he is the best thing about Djúpivogur and I honestly think so, what a wonderful, interesting and creative man living in the middle of nowhere and creating his own little world out of the sheer imagination! He made my day and in fact I must admit that - completely unexpectedly - tiny little Djúpivogur turned out to be the richest, the most unforgettable experience in Iceland this year.

Old Krapina Festivals

Because right now I am in completely different part of the world - on top of Northern Iceland - its probably just natural that at certain point I will be compelled to look back affectionately at my own backyard and check out something that under normal circumstances I would probably never listen. It is regional Krapina festival that has been going on forever in small, hilly part of Croatian countryside and it has been nurturing local kind of music, almost exclusively performed in local regional dialect of Zagorje. Completely unconcerned with commercial aspect of the business and the fact that this music/recordings might be only of passing interest to locals, Krapina festival has been quietly going on for decades, attracting artists who are in it for the sheer pleasure of being part of something as uncompromising as cherishing the tradition of regional chanson even though it exist completely outside of hit making machinery. For years I have been looking down at this festival because in my ignorance I associated it with certain cliché but than again, almost every festival has some recognizable trait so we can safely describe each of them as certain stereotype. Krapina happen to grow and flourish in a countryside associated with drinking and good time, so naturally music reflect this, for better or worse.

Krapina '68

The most interesting aspect of this collection (and still a very interesting idea) is inclusion of several operatic stars in what is basically lightweight festival of popular songs performed in local, regional dialect. The whole idea of organizing a music festival that would unrepentantly focus exclusively on a something that is completely out of the mainstream and creating a songbook that might appeal only to particular audience (who would understand Zagorje dialect) is very brave indeed. But apparently it worked and even though its completely off-the-wall and not commercial, it attracted the following, even managed a evergreen or two that radio plays to this days.

The album is divided between two completely different sides: operatic and popular.

Surprisingly (or perhaps not at all) because I expected never ending list of drinking songs and lively polkas the A side with operatic singers turns out to be real music pleasure and discovery. Excellent singers who obviously relished the occasion, all of them easily blow the orchestra away and even though this kind of art song is not really suited for radio play, when someone like Krunoslav Cigoj unleash that golden voice, it is a pure joy. The biggest discovery is dramatic and almost atonal poem "Inje" (The Frost) performed and composed by great Vladimir Ruždjak, which sound as something out of Horror soundtrack - it caught my attention immediately with his heroic voice and stunning backing chorus, its really a chilling, unforgettable performance completely outside of what we usually expect and associate with Krapina festival.

Difficult to follow such assembly of operatic talents, but organizers obviously wanted to create something for the masses so therefore side B is all about popular ditties tailored to sound like traditional folk music from this region. This means tamburitza galore, drinking songs, polkas and basically every cliché we know about Krapina. Nothing wrong with it and performers are fine, it probably got more radio play than operatic side but to my ears this all plays too safe and it doesn't bring anything new - I cherish the album exclusively because of the A side and operatic singers who actually dared to bring something substantial.

Krapina '70

No more operatic singers this time as organizers obviously decided to make it more radio friendly and appealing to wider audiences, as the names included are without exception well-known pop singers. There might be a strong political undertone to all of this, as festival has been built exclusively around the spirit of regional pride but it might be only my own hindsight. Vice Vukov has honor to sing "Dobro mi došel prijatelj" as opener and its by far the strongest song here, truly unforgettable, lilting poetry in music that survived ever since (it became surprising radio hit again some seventeen years later, when it was used as official anthem for Zagreb's Univerzijada international sport games). The rest is more or less what we expect from Krapina festival, lots of tamburitza, drinking songs about friendship or beloved old homes, if you heard one of those, they all basically very much alike. This is not to criticize Krapina because every single of our popular festivals milked very much same cliché - just look at Split festival that apparently unwittingly serves music about sea, sailors, drinking and good old home forever - its just that after a while it does become tiresome and only someone like Vice Vukov and Gabi Novak had sense to step outside of the box and use local dialect as a stepping point for exploring possibility of creating regional chanson that might be poetic and timeless.