TIME OF THE WOLF
Depending on their authenticity and where they live in the world, it sometimes becomes an unavoidable task for artists to reflect the times in which they live. Serbian singer-songwriter and poet MILOŠ ZUBAC finds himself at the centre of his country's political times, after losing his job in the provincial government as a result of supporting the student protests sweeping across his country. He has been unemployed ever since.
The subsequent album, Vremena Vučja (Time Of The Wolf) (https://miloszubac.bandcamp.
Zubac deals with the fate of various individuals caught up in the creeping of evil, be they wolves or sheep, perpetrators or casualties. He chooses his words carefully. They are heavy with meaning and poetic imagery, seeding hope and illuminating the darkness that surrounds those who choose to attempt to inflate their own importance or to oppress and control the spirit of others.
It is worth mentioning at this point that the surname of Serbia's controversial president, Aleksandar Vučić translates as 'wolf cub'. His government has been the target of the aforementioned student protests and responses to the protesters, and their supporters have attracted the attention of various international human rights organisations who have expressed concern about arbitrary arrests, use of force and the erosion of civil liberties. Time of the wolf, indeed.
Perhaps the most important song here is 'Drvo' ('Tree') which deals with the dignified protests in Zubac's home city of Novi Sad following the collapse of a concrete canopy at its railway station that resulted in the deaths of sixteen people. Symbolism is high around the disaster. Renovation of the railway station was a flagship government project involving a high-speed rail link to Hungary and the station was inaugurated in a 2022 back-slapping ceremony attended by Vučić and Hungary's ex-president, Viktor Orbán.
Government responses since, including disingenuous speeches, searching for scapegoats and the oppression of protesters and their supporters, have only served to stoke further protests. Meanwhile, the repaired railway station stands as a instant reminder. On the anniversary of the disaster, the people of Novi Sad gathered in their thousands to join in a sixteen-minute silent vigil. One minute for each of the disaster's victims, which is where Zubac's song begins.
It is performed over a slowly pulsing solo piano that sounds like a mournfully tolling but beautiful bell. The lyric is recited rather than sung. The serious and resonant tone of Zubac's voice causes his words to hang in the air of the listener's thoughts long after he has finished speaking. He describes sixteen leaves falling from a maple tree during the protest. At the end of the song the piano chimes sixteen times.
Elsewhere, the music by contrast is full of light and colour, sometimes even mischief and humour. The album is produced and arranged by Svetozar Nešić who also plays piano and is credited with writing the music for three tracks. The harmony and cohesion with which his work complements that of Zubac shows where his heart lies.
This album does not dwell in or on its times. It rises above them and from that position it shines a persistent torch on the strengths that will see us through dark times. Family, friends, spirit, faith, education, love; nothing is forgotten. The voices and musical skills of Zubac's allies and loved ones can be heard performing on this album like a security blanket of solidarity. Somewhere in a shadowy corridor of the Serbian government a bitter and twisted heart will be noting down the names of every contributor, but the history of humanity is plagued with despots who never understood the power of love.
Eddie Cooney, RnR Magazine Volume 2/Issue 119
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