There’s something raw and untapped in the Balkans. Traditionalism has managed to postpone modernities pull — generations still holding on to to past mishaps, betrayals, heartbreaks and deaths of family members fought in wars which taught their descendants “Never forget; love your neighbor but never trust them.” This wilderness; wide grass patches and empty fields rattling with snakes and corpses decomposed into soil we grow our crops on; eat from the flesh of our history — leaves room for spontaneous outbursts of danger and humanity. A reckless driver on the road crashes into children playing on the street, a mother on her way to fetch her son on the edge of the woods find him killed, bitten by a wolf. A man drops dead on the way home from work — this Balkan air, this Balkan soil, this Balkan wilderness zaps you into life the moment you think it’s the end, the Balkan songs blast into life
