Don’t Dismiss the Kitsch: The Evolution of Turbofolk

Serbian artist Ceca in concert, Ljubljana 2009 (CC: Public Domain via Wikimedia Commons)

Turbofolk, when heard by those unfamiliar, can be incredibly jarring- its upbeat tempo, scantily clad starlets and song titles such as ‘Sexy Biznesmen’ certainly overwhelm the senses. What may seem surprising, then, is the genre’s role in the culture of violence during the Yugoslav wars of the 1990s. Though the genre’s name was coined jokingly by a Montenegrin performer, Rambo Amadeus, turbofolk truly became enshrined into popular Balkan culture during the Milosevic regime. TV Pink, run by Milosevic’s wife, moulded the genre  to promote the regime’s values.

Originating in 1970s Yugoslavia, turbofolk experienced a boom in popularity after the state collapsed in the early 90s. According to Ivana Kronja at the University of Arts in Belgrade, the genre promoted the new lifestyle of Serbian elites: wealthy businessmen, war-profiteers and their eroticised female companions. The values of the ‘American dream’ combined with ethnic hatred, sexualisation and ethnic conflict create a heady mix. Perhaps the most prominent model of this combination is Svetlana Ražnatović, better known by her stage-name, Ceca. One of the most famous Serbian artists of all time, she married infamous war criminal and paramilitary commander Željko ‘Arkan’ Ražnatović in what was described as a ‘Serbian fairytale’ by local media outlets. The union was even distributed on VHS. In one music video for her song Nije Monotonija, Ceca dances provocatively in front of a backdrop of a tiger– the symbol of Arkan’s Serb Volunteer Guard, perhaps symbolising more than anything the connection between the hypersexuality of turbofolk and the violence of 1990s Yugoslavia. Though Ceca’s lyrics are mainly romantic rather than violent, she exists as a symbol of Serbian nationalism.

There exists, however, a much more explicitly violent subgenre of turbofolk, where the jolly sounds of the accordion mask (to the non-Serbo-Croatian speaker) lyrics which epitomise the ethnic violence that broke out in South-Eastern Europe after the breakup of Yugoslavia. The lyrics are explicitly war-like and racist; Miro Semberac’s ‘Jadna Bosno Suverena’, for example, state, in response to the declaration of Bosnian independence: “sve džamije u oblake leti”- all mosques will fly into the clouds. Similarly, one of the most popular turbofolk songs, ‘Oj Alija Aljo’, with over two million streams on Spotify, refers to former Bosnian President Alija Izetbegović as a ‘muslimanski izrode’- a ‘Muslim degenerate’. Deeply Islamophobic and rooted in conflict, it would be easy to assume that the genre faded away as the wars ended, but this is not the case. Instead, turbofolk has undergone a transformation.

It would also be easy to assume that turbofolk exists  only to prop up so-called ‘traditional’ societal roles, with highly feminised portrayals of women and the homophobia that the West often seems to associate with Eastern Europe. However, it seems that increasingly turbofolk artists have adopted the ‘queer aesthetic’, and have become some of the greatest advocates for the LGBT community in the Balkans. Perhaps the most prominent example of this transformation is the ‘godmother’ of pride, Karleuša. Her videos are bold, avant garde, and somewhat reminiscent of Lady Gaga, a complete transformation from older, more traditional depictions of femininity in the Turbofolk genre. Her efforts in this transformation of the genre have earned her a place at the head of 2017 Belgrade Pride, perhaps signalling a real shift not only within the bounds of the Balkan music industry, but in broader culture. Even considerably more conservative performers, including Ceca, have made statements of support for same-sex marriage and LGBT+ rights.

As an enduringly popular genre in the Balkans, turbofolk’s influence and power should not be underestimated, no matter how low-brow it is considered. Its remarkable shift from promoting ethnic violence and preserving governmental authority to an increasing acceptance of marginal identities is a powerful example of culture and politics evolving in the region. Perhaps the primary lesson to learn from turbofolk is…don’t dismiss the kitsch.