Igor Božanić: «The sevdalinkas of Banja Luka have a more fantastic and archaic quality, as if you can never fully reach them because they seem to have a life of their own»
This young Bosnian artist is poised to open a new path and usher in a new era in the ongoing evolution of Sevdah music in the 21st century. After several years immersed in pop and rock music, Igor Božanić was drawn to traditional sounds. Since then, he has dedicated his life to applying his unique sensibility to these archaic rhythms, giving them a new dimension. Following his album Runo (Pop Depresija, 2021), he now presents Žega, a beautiful collection of folk songs from his native Banja Luka, complemented by two of his own original compositions. Recorded with the Popov brothers, Srđan and Pavle, this latest album is destined to make its mark in the history of modern sevdalinka music, thanks to its truly special atmosphere. After speaking with Igor, we understand why.
«The term ‘Sevdah noir’ suggests a darker interpretation of the sevdalinka, but in a more esoteric, almost cinematic sense»
«Sevdalinka is a treasure that everyone can and should share, this perspective is far stronger than any ethno-nationalistic ideas»
«Old songs are protective of their performer with tradition even while they’re expressing the most subjective, or contemporary, emotions»
By César Campoy.
– The term ‘Sevdah noir’ has been used to define your approach to traditional music. It’s true that when you listen to Žega, you end up feeling what this definition means, but I’d like you to explain what the ‘Sevdah noir’ world means to you.
– The term was actually coined by my label, and my manager insisted on keeping it. I grew to like it, because it suggests a darker interpretation of the sevdalinka, but in a more esoteric, almost cinematic sense. Many of the songs on Žega contain dark motives, like loss, longing, tragedy, even visions, and those are precisely the details I tend to highlight. I am inspired by how people in the past represented and interpreted these emotions through song, and how their choices, made in very different circumstances, still resonate today.
What fascinates me is that today, at least I find it like that, when trying to express such things, we seem to fall into common places, and lots of space that has no meaning. Old songs, on the other hand, were always so condensed. Even when they dealt with the most basic things, they did so with such taste and refinement, as if every verse, every melody, had been crystallized over centuries and only the most poignant line, the most evocative image, the most haunting musical phrase survived from generation to generation.
That said, not all of the songs on Žega fit strictly into this darker definition. For instance, The dragon flew in from Bosnia to the Danube [Zmaj prileti s Bosne na Dunavu] is a fantastic tale that culminates in pride, defiance, and even an almost arrogant hauteur.
– How did you get into the world of Sevdah? If I’m not mistaken, in your early days, and for a time, under the Sir Croissant name, you made a different kind of music, more pop-oriented and in English.
– At the risk of sounding cliché, Sevdah came to me quite naturally. Even in the period when I was writing indie folk and DIY bedroom pop, I somehow always felt compelled to end my shows with an a cappella version of the sevdalinka Kraj potoka bistre vode. Judging by the audience’s reactions, I could already sense the special magic of Sevdah, even though at that time I wasn’t consciously pursuing the genre.
Later, when I began writing in my mother tongue, those melodies started surfacing almost instinctively. I say it has to do with the language itself: our language seems to ‘search’ for those melodies. Over generations, people have developed that particular style of singing in harmony with the way we speak. That combination creates something unique and haunting.
From there, my interest in where those songs came from, how they were preserved, and what kind of lives and experiences shaped them grew. Sevdah was more like following a trail that was always quietly present in my work, until it became the main thing.
– Let’s talk a little about the so-called ‘neosevdah’. Would it be a more advanced phase of what was called New Sevdah, based on the work of people like Mostar Sevdah Reunion, Damir Imamović, Amira Medunjanin, Halka–Božo Vrećo or Divanhana, or are we talking about the same movement?
– I’m not entirely sure, to be honest. I guess those are all marketing terms or cunning ways to divide the traditional ideas of the genre and the more experimental, fusion-of-genres ones. But I can say that everything I and other new interpreters of sevdalinka can do, is because of the path that was walked, first, by people who emigrated to other countries in the 90’s and started making new arrangements of music of their homeland, breaking the rules either out of necessity, or out of inspiration, and then that path was developed by artists you mentioned above. It really is a new wave, and whether it will develop further and grow and whether we will need to separate it into more waves only time can tell. What matters most, to me, is that the tradition keeps evolving and that each generation finds its own voice within it.
– Without a doubt, the participation of the brothers Srđan and Pavle Popov is crucial in Žega. Srđan stated that they both fell in love with you after hearing your previous album, Runo, and decided they wanted to work with you. How did that contact come about? Did you know each other before?
– It all started through our label. Both Srđan and Pavle had already released albums with Pop Depresija, and we kind of knew each other from here and there. The real connection happened thanks to Ivan Lončarević, who introduced us. We met for coffee, exchanged a few ideas, and it all clicked almost instantly.
They had already listened to Runo, and came with an openness and curiosity that made the collaboration very natural. What impressed me most was how quickly they grasped the atmosphere I wanted to create, even with my sometimes very very vague explanations. That’s how Žega grew into something bigger than any of us could have achieved alone.
– What new horizons and possibilities have you discovered by working with the Popov brothers, young men but with significant and risky professional experience? What percentage of responsibility do they have, and what percentage do you have, when it comes to redefining traditional classics like Moj behare or Snijeg pade na behar, na voće?
– It was a very interesting process, as we were changing the ‘costume’ of these songs. Since both brothers come from outside the world of Sevdah and usually work in other genres, I wanted to emphasize their intuition and their fresh harmonic reinterpretations of pieces that everyone already knows so well.
The way we worked was simple but in the end very effective: I would record the vocals either completely a cappella, or sometimes with just a single chord sustained through the whole song. They would then build the entire musical framework around that vocal line, composing entirely new chord progressions and harmonies. Afterwards, we went into the studio together, recorded everything and made the final touches, deciding what to keep, what to add, and how to balance all of our ideas to get something new and inspiring.
– We mentioned the song Snijeg pade na behar, na voće, which has become a kind of symbol of social protest, free love, and even the rights of various groups. What do you think about Sevdah being given this kind of update?
– It’s a very interesting topic, and one I think about quite a lot. I’m certain it’s something that will be explored even more in the near future. Many of my fellow Sevdah interpreters already weave modern social issues into old sevdalinkas, and I find that to be a really fruitful combination.
When you reinterpret certain lines, like «Let everyone love whomever they want» or «Do you grieve for Banja Luka?» from Put putuje Latif-aga, the two most powerful examples for me, it really allows for a new perspective and a new spirit to be breathed in these songs.
– We’ll talk about your two original songs in a moment, but how do you choose the sevdalinkas you decide to reconstruct? Do you think of traditional songs close to your hometown of Banja Luka?
– That was exactly the plan. I wanted to explore the songs that used to be sung in my hometown, and to uncover the remnants of singers from the so-called ‘fourth block’ of Banja Luka. It was almost like a school of singers that, in many ways, got lost in history, either because they never had the chance to perform professionally on the radio, or because politics and changing times made us forget them and overlook their unique artistry. In a way, I wanted to revive their forgotten music, but also try to draw attention to a neglected part of the city’s memory and identity.
– Please tell me about the process of recovering and reconstructing less popular pieces related to Banja Luka. From what I understand, you took into account the research carried out by ethnomusicologist Vlado Milošević, a historic figure in your city.
– While researching the origins of certain sevdalinkas, I came across recordings from Vlado Milošević’s radio program, which was broadcast in the last century and is filled with invaluable material from and about Banja Luka’s singers. Fortunately, much of this has been preserved thanks to Semir Vranić’s online archive, for which we should all be deeply grateful. Sometimes even the smallest trace on the internet is enough to ensure that something continues to live on.
From that archive, I selected three songs that struck me most, not only for their melodies but also for their lyrics, two of which are almost fantastic, even medieval, in the imagery of their stories.
After choosing the songs, I researched their other versions from different Bosnian towns, as well as from Croatia, Serbia, and Montenegro. I then tried to weave certain elements together, creating hybrid versions, but built upon the melodic foundation of Bania Luka. That way I wanted to include all the regions where the sevdalinka is sung, and of course, accentuate its universality.
– By the way, I recently returned to BiH and found a copy of Omer Pobrić’s book Banjalučki sevdah u vremenu(2004). Were you familiar with this book?
– I’ve definitely heard of it, and I think I even came across some excerpts online, but I don’t actually own a copy myself. If I’m not mistaken, around that same time, Pobrić also organized an evening of Banja Luka Sevdah at Banski Dvor. There’s a video of it online. Back then, initiatives like that could still happen and reach people in ways that feel rare today.
– What differentiates the sevdalinka of Banja Luka from that of the rest of Yugoslavia, or what characterizes it?
– I feel that the lyrics are always a bit more fantastic and archaic, carrying a certain distance, as if you can never fully reach them because they seem to have a life of their own. The melodies are also pretty unique, though I’m not entirely sure whether that should be attributed to Banja Luka itself or to the genius of the singers who performed them.
Sometimes, it doesn’t even sound like a sevdalinka, or our idea of what that could or should be, but more like a traditional, slavic folk song. And this is with reason, that’s why the ‘ravna pjesma‘ was defined and in a way distinguished from the sevdalinka.
– There’s a common misconception about defining Sevdah as a music exclusive to BiH, while the rest of Yugoslavia also has well-known sevdalinkas. Furthermore, many of the historical musicians and singers were born outside of BiH. Don’t you think?
– I completely agree, sevdalinka is a treasure that everyone can and should share! I really value that this perspective is far stronger than any ethno-nationalistic ideas that are sometimes attached to the genre. And I am so glad that it’s precisely this inclusive understanding that guided the efforts to preserve sevdalinka under UNESCO, emphasizing its cultural significance beyond any kinds of borders and showing that its beauty belongs to and can be appreciated by everyone.
– By the way, I think the bolero rhythm of Moj behare is very apt. How did you come up with the idea that it would pair so well with this classic?
– I have to give credit to Srđan for that one. He just heard it while listening to the vocal line, and the idea immediately clicked. From there, we slowly built on that, adding some electronic elements and Pavle’s fantastic one-man string quartet. I particularly love the flute in that song, it just adds so much to that classical dimension of the arrangement.
– The two songs you wrote are the beautiful and anguished Umij me, more and Bosna. In the first, you say something like: «Wash me, sea, until I’m white (…) until I become transparent. Oh, sea, where are you taking me? Where are my loved ones?» How did that song come about?
– In a way, I hesitate to explain this, but the backstory is a difficult, still-relevant one: the story of forced migrations overseas, of failed attempts to escape to a better life. At a time when many of these stories were being published online, I stumbled upon some of my old teenage poetry and a few lines about the sea and family. Those lines suddenly took on a completely new meaning. It took me about a year in total to finish the lyrics, and to fit them into the melody I made while listening to endless recordings of Fairuz. I finally succeeded while sitting in a small park in Paris.
I tried to handle the subject matter with as much respect as possible, while integrating political references and using metaphors thoughtfully. It’s a very sensitive subject, and I sincerely hope the result communicates my care and respect.
The harp, played by Pavle and Srđan’s friend Mina [Marinković], came in beautifully. It’s not just accompaniment to the vocal, but in a way acts as a conversation partner. We were largely inspired by
Björk’s rendition of Like Someone in Love, which also has that dialogue between the vocal and the harp.
– Bosna is moving, not only because of your vocal performance, but also because of its lyrics: «If only I had wings, so I could fly. High. And forget. Mother, kiss me. Give me a name everyone will like». I understand you move between Banja Luka and Belgrade. What is your current relationship, both spiritual and spiritual, with BiH and its future?
– I am actually currently based in Ljubljana where I’m finishing my master’s in French studies, so I travel in a Ljubljana-Belgrade-Banja Luka triangle very often. I feel like my relationship with Bosnia intensified only when I moved to Belgrade, seeing from afar what kind of reality I was living in (not to say that Serbia is any more advanced in that regard, we can see that especially now). It’s about then that I developed this almost artificial relationship with my own country, or my idea of it, which very rarely actually reflects in it: for every step forward, I see a step or two backwards. Just the physical landscape of my hometown is not the same anymore, burdened with ideological reinterpretations of history and messages of disunity, let alone the current social and political reality the people have become dull to. It’s hard not to be pessimistic. But maybe that indifference will lead to at least something more peaceful. I don’t know.
Still, I wanted to break the frame of a typical patriotic song and move away from the associations I usually have with that. Again, I was inspired by listening to lots of Arabic music (hence, a phrase in Arabic I put in the last line). In those interpretations and songs about homeland, I found some new ideas that break the mold, that don’t evoke revulsion in me, and was inspired enough to write this song.
– I sense that Pop Depresija also plays an important role in your change of direction. In fact, the label is responsible for releasing your 2021 album, Runo. What is your relationship with the label?
– I am deeply grateful to Ivan Lončarević for all his support. Žega simply wouldn’t have been possible without him, in every sense. I feel that Pop Depresija is, above all, a constant force that never gives up on good music and on artists that Ivan truly believes in.
– Runo marks the beginning of this new direction. It was composed and recorded, if I’m not mistaken, during the pandemic, in a home studio, and features brief but interesting collaborations with Darko Ružičić (accordion) and Ozren Četković (cello). What can you tell us about it? It’s an album that impresses, not only musically, but also lyrically, with its authentic expression of feelings.
– It was recorded everywhere: in my friends’ apartments, in my parents’ house in Banja Luka, and then in the apartment I stayed in Belgrade. It really turned into a big DIY project. Looking back, I, of course, first cringe a little, but then I start appreciating the amount of effort and time that went into making an album with literally zero proper equipment or budget. From this perspective, the lyrics I wrote at 17, 18, 19 feel both disturbing and impressive. I don’t think I could write that way again, but I’m glad it exists and that it was recorded.
The addition of cello and accordion was a real revelation for me. It put the songs into a larger frame and opened up a lot of creative space. I remember the accordionist asking if I was playing the melody of
Daleko on the guitar because he said he had heard it in the back and copied it on the accordion. Of course, there was no actual melody, just simple picking patterns, but the presence of another pair of ears completely transformed the songs. It opened new sonic horizons and helped shape the final result in ways I hadn’t imagined. I see now how it was very indicative of what happened later when making Žega.
– Let’s talk a little about your style. Your tremendous energy and your ability to express so many emotions are incredibly surprising, despite being seen as a delicate and fragile person. How are you able to combine these two concepts so beautifully?
– Well, thank you! I’m not sure how to fully explain it. I try to focus entirely on the song and to let go in a controlled way, making sure not to overdo it. It’s a delicate balance between rehearsing and leaving things raw, so that there’s always an element of unpredictability. It’s what I think gives the performances their energy and emotional depth, although I slipped up a few times while performing these new songs, and let’s just say that it was maybe a bit too raw (out of tune…).
– If, by way of introduction, I were to tell someone who didn’t know you that Igor Božanić would be like Thom Yorke had just fallen in love with the Sevdah universe, what would you think?
– I’ve been hearing that comparison since I started making music! I’d say -why not! If it sparks interest and curiosity, then everything is welcome.
– Do you also deal with two ways of understanding sound and spiritual art as different as Sevdah, and pop and rock?
– That’s an interesting question. I don’t make a strict distinction between genres or what they can offer. I believe that any kind of music, whether it’s Sevdah, pop, rock, or turbo-folk, can reach the soul and be genuinely inspiring. I listen to and enjoy quite a bit of turbo-folk and I often watch parts of Zvezde Granda, which I can then follow with Cocteau Twins, Big Thief, or with world music, or Joni Mitchell, or new American pop and alternative. To me, it’s all about the connection the music creates and the feelings it evokes. I think we should embrace all these different dimensions of our personality and culture, and simply enjoy them.
When it comes to performing though, I currently find that music rooted in tradition suits me the most and lets me express these emotions the easiest. Old songs are protective of their performer, as if they guard them with tradition even while they’re expressing the most subjective, or contemporary, emotions.
– By the way, we were talking about Damir Imamović earlier. You performed with him in Belgrade. Do you maintain an ongoing relationship? Would you like to collaborate with him on any special projects?
– I just saw Damir at my friend’s Tine festival in Škofja Loka! We had a nice chat and he’s been a good support. I would love to collaborate with any of our Sevdah musicians, of course.
– One of the million-dollar questions: Where is Sevdah headed in the 21st century? Can events like its recognition as a World Heritage help in any way?
– I think Sevdah in its traditional form still lives on, and the new interpretations will also find their own path. The song will certainly not be lost, especially now that some formal protections are in place. At the end of the day, the big hits remain present on TV, in homes, at parties, and at celebrations. On top of that, the internet and incredible online archives, like yours, preserve traces of many details about both famous and lesser-known but precious songs. These resources will continue to inspire new generations of artists, who in turn will breathe new life into these songs while keeping the tradition alive and evolving.
– Tell me about your short- and medium-term plans.
– We will soon get a first try-out copy of a vinyl for Žega, so that’s very exciting. In the meantime we are making plans for some gigs in the region, and maybe a video.
Lee esta entrevista en español
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Sevdalinkas: 150 joyas del Sevdah, por César Campoy
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