tallava forever

a mashup from multiple live tallava performances:

songs that men sing about nightingales

3.10.2010

This morning scientists reported that last week's earthquake had moved the city of Concepcion 10 feet to the west. Nearby mountains had moved in the same direction, though less far. The earth's axis shifted three inches, and our days were hereafter shortened by one millionth of a second. I fried eggs and listened to the news.

By early afternoon it had started to snow. Tiny birds jumped from branch to branch, upset by the weather. I drove to the airport. The snowfall thickened. The flakes were heavy, wide and wet. Sludge built up on the side of the road, and I felt the wheels slip as the car changed lanes.

In the parking lot I sat in the car and smoked a cigarette. I could hear airplanes taking off, but they could not be seen through the solid sheet of clouds. A heavy wind rocked the car like a boat.

At home I chopped cabbage and listened to the news. It hadn't been a heavy wind rocking the car after all. The earthquake had sent people streaming out of office buildings in Pristina. Albanian news sources reported that the epicenter of the quake was Istog, a predominately Albanian town. Serbian news reported that the epicenter was Zubin Potok, an overwhelmingly Serbian town. That night the sun went down one millionth of a second sooner than usual.

scenes from the ride home

from the airport: just two minutes of driving...

the thing to do

It's become the thing to do, now that the razor wire and tanks are gone: to go down to the bridge and hang out there, spitting sunflower seed shells into the water, or passing back and forth a liter of Coke and, if there are kids on the other side, to talk to them, or really to shout a bit, over the noise of the river.

rugova valley

viski coca cola

It's a new mashup, this time comprised of found youtube footage containing performances of this Balkan classic. I've tried to cover as wide a spectrum as possible, believing that a complete cultural survey could be made of the region via the "viski coca cola" videos available on youtube. The weddings, parties, machismo, beat-up cars, scantily clad dames, clubs, hotel lobbies, lip-synching, low-budget variety shows, high heels and, yes: the drinking too.



But for most of my inspiration I am indebted to this guy--he's got it all: the moves, the look, that je ne se qua... no amount of mashing or remixing can really top his performance. Insanely hyperactive keyboard dude: I salute you.

Sometimes I just love the Balkans.

kapaonik, ostrich tracks and winter in mitrovica

reel to reel (mashup)

Without making too much of the immediately apparent technological leap between reel to reel tapes and youtube video uploads (a leap somehow bridged no matter how tenuously by the thin shining metal strings of the çiftelia, the epileptic convulsions of iron particles spun into tape, the brushed metal casing of a camera purchased on holiday in Germany before being hitched to so many cables strung around couch legs and tacked along window frames, strung through tree branches into a gathering of powerlines, down the road past the mosque and underground: none of it possible without and all of it brought to you by spindly fractured wearing down webs of metal spun three times and packed in cardboard from earth it came and to the earth it shall return, but it still takes a metallic resonance to make any of this happen) there remains something particularly charming about these videos: a man holding a lens, or balancing it on the arm of the living room ottoman for four to seven minutes in order to duplicate/preserve/share/force upon us/grasp himself the echoing shadow of a few ghosts, aware of the decay setting in, the warp of heat disfiguring tapes like the bandages falling from mummies revealing only dust inside; these particular breath-holding cellphone-muting extended pauses could (really should) and will only happen for a few years (these few years) in our history as a people, some time after the computers are bought (more for our children than for ourselves) but only until anyone (that child in particular) has stopped caring about those dancing electrons and what they infer and so, in honor of this decade—the decade when Kosovars filmed their reel to reel tape machines, the decade we are more or less living in now and which will be gone soon enough—I give you, in tribute, the mashup:

happy holidays from ko-kosovo

* We strongly recommend you read the instructions for the Santa on the Dree before using.

the garbage fire

While I was standing there, this Ashkalli or Roma boy came up and started kicking stuff around. Then he hid next to the fence and spent a few minutes peeking around the corner, waiting for someone who never showed up. He didn't seem to notice me.

berlin emmigration

Roma refugees from Kosovo protesting their planned deportation. Potsdamer Platz.

Someone else. Kreuzberg.

august 20, 2009

south mitro from the south




south mitro from the north




the castle




zvecan




unexplained dirt, 1




unexplained dirt, 2




unexplained dirt, 3

wildlife / streetlife

Kittens and puppies are everywhere, every stray Mitrovica mother having birthed a Gemini.


The church on the south side is as empty as ever.


When cleaning the fountain, they return the fish to the river.

beetles, vivodan and blackbirds in the cherry tree

qershor

funded by unmik and france

may 21, 2009

The major streets were closed to traffic. We took the turnabout near the bus station and parked in a lot close to the Rilindja building.



It was strange to see the streets so empty. We walked to the parliament building and took pictures of the banners.





Then we went for a coffee on UÇK Street.



We figured it was a good place to keep an eye on things.



A reporter friend called from the airport to say that he hadn’t landed yet. We couldn’t imagine that they would make him take the road from the airport, still under construction. They had only blocked off the road through Dragodan.

So we figured a helicopter would take him to the U.S. embassy and his motorcade would leave from there.

There were a number of billboards with his image on it, and the words “Welcome and Thank You.” Alternating U.S. and Kosovo flags were hung from all the lampposts. It was very quiet.



They let the children out of school and armed them with posters, and flags. We heard the children coming and knew that it must be time. We paid for our coffee and walked towards the parliament building.




I found a spot near the security gate. An old man asked me not to smoke. It was the first time anyone had ever asked me that.



The children were chanting and singing. Their teachers directed them to different areas alongside the road in order to insure that the entire route would be well populated.



Their signs said “Thank you,” “Peace” and “Welcome Mr. Biden.”



An old man worked the crowd with American and Albanian flags tied to the end of a thick pole, the handle of some farm tool.



There were only two or three Albanian flags in the whole place. It was the first time I had seen that.

A few groups of young dancers in traditional dress were placed at the edge of the road before the parliament building. A large band began playing on the square above us. The crowd sang and cheered.



Additional police positioned themselves between us and the road.



A midget wearing an American flag baseball cap danced in the middle of the road. Everyone cheered for him.

From the audience he brought out an old man in a white fez and a young dancer in costume. They stood next to him and clapped while he danced. The girl seemed uncomfortable though.



A few police cars sped down the road now and then.

Most of the crowd was under eighteen or over fifty. The vice president might think that everyone between 18 and 50 was dead.



The band stopped playing. A helicopter flew overhead.



We could see the lights of his motorcade underneath the trees at the end of the street, moving slower than the police that had preceded him.



He sat by himself in the back seat, facing away from me. He was waving and smiling, and he did this in a way that was more natural than one expects from a politician. But I know you’re not supposed to think such things about politicians.



He seemed like he genuinely appreciated the celebration. He pointed to the dancers and smiled.

The last security vehicle in his procession had a piece of paper taped to the window. The paper said “Straggler.”

An ambulance ended the procession in front the parliament gates. The gates were closed.

Most of us started drifting away. I followed some members of the band: a guitarist and the accordion player.



Some people gathered near the National Theater. They weren’t ready for the party to end.




They had nothing else planned for the whole day.

The police were having a great time, taking turns at breakneck speed through the empty streets.

A protest against his visit was held near the bridge. The vice president wasn’t going anywhere near Mitrovica.

Instead he was flown to Decani.

His helicopters flew overhead, identical and evenly spaced.