Chances that the Oblivians, Gories, and White Stripes ever heard of Yugoslavia’s godfathers of garage punk, Partibrejkers, are next to zero. And yet, upon hearing the bass-less, cutting garage rhythm & blues the Partibrejkers (speak: party breakers) thrashed out on their deliberately lo-fi 1985 debut album, one is inclined to think these Belgradians pioneered an aesthetic their American counterparts picked up on with at least ten years delay.
In the hardcore-dominated mid 80s, it was unusual for any band to play raw garage rock, including in ‘socialist’ countries. The Partibrejkers’ debut might have failed to sell hugely, but still struck a chord with rebellious Yugoslav teenagers. Avoided contrived Americanisms, Partibrejkers sang in their native tongue, sharing their experience of being young in Yugoslavia and offering their followers something they could truly relate to. “I don’t want to live for 1,000 years, I want everything right now, right here”, vocalist Cane shouted in 1,000 Godina.
Several break-ups and reunions later, the band are still active, and last time I checked they were playing major venues in Serbia. In 2008, I had the honour to meet Partibrejkers guitarist and founding member Anton in a Belgrade bar and asked him a few question.
Can you please introduce yourself?
My name is Anton, I’m guitarist with Partibrejkers, a Yugoslav rock’n’roll band that I formed in 1982. I formed Partibrejkers with Sine, whom I had played with in BUTIK and BG5.
Can you describe the style of those bands?
They were a little bit different to the Partibrejkers, but they too had a rhythm & blues based sound.
So the Partibrejkers came out of a rock tradition rather than a punk tradition?
When punk appeared, of course it left an impression on us. Punk rock left an imprint on the sound of our music. It was similar to what we already played, but it did change our overall sound a bit.
It’s obviousyour first album was influenced by 60s garage, the MC5, the New York Dolls, and so on. Did you get to hear these bands via the punk connection, or were you aware of them before punk?
We knew all these bands before we heard punk. We were listening to Hendrix, but also to the MC5 and Iggy Pop and everything from that time. That was the music of our time. Later on, we would also listen to Television and such.
What were you singing about on your first album?
Since the beginning until today, we have always been talking about the same things: about ourselves and our inner states, and about clashing with reality. The lyrics on the first album were about being young and at odds with society, having problems at work, and so on.
Back then, Yugoslavia was a socialist country. Did you feel at any point that Partibrejkers were part of a cultural opposition?
Let me tell you, things are not that simple. We grew up in a country that was very specific – Yugoslav communism wasn’t like communism in Russia or Bulgaria. Many people called our regime a pussy regime because it was a very easy-going time for everyone. As young people, we had a lot of freedom, probably more freedom than people in the West. Most people didn’t have to start working early on, they could go to university and study instead. We came from poorer families, but since the communist government placed much importance on education, working class people like us were encouraged to study at university instead of getting a job straight away. The government offered you the opportunity to do that.
At that moment in time, we were interested in changing ourselves rather than changing anything else. We wanted to have lots of fun, but on the other hand, we felt something about society wasn’t quite right. Even though we sensed it from the beginning, we only really found out later that the only way to change anything is to change yourself. That’s the one lesson I learned.
What was the situation for Yugoslav bands in those days – could you become a rock star or make a living as a professional musician?
Music is like all the other big things in life, it either grabs you or it doesn’t. I don’t believe in the professional aspect of it. We were always professional, but not in the traditional sense of the word. We gave everything to the music because we loved it.
It was possible in Yugoslavia for a musician to survive, if only very modestly. But that’s an important thing to me: to live modestly.
Why was there no bass on your first album?
We were four friends and had a certain chemistry between us. We didn’t need anyone else in there. Had there been someone with the same chemistry, perhaps we would have had a bass. But there was no-one.
The first line in your song Kremi Prema Meni goes “I’m no Romeo, you’re no Juliet, today I ate something disgusting.” It doesn’t make any sense.
It’s just because in our language, pojeo (disgusting) rhymes with Romeo.
Also, there are nights when you feel so messed up you don’t know who you are, so it feels like you’ve eaten something disgusting. We were taking a lot of heroin at that time.
Were you all junkies?
No, in fact it was only me (laughs).
What kind of heroin did you have in Yugoslavia? Was it the same as the heroin in the west, or was it the strong stuff they had in Eastern Block countries such as Poland?
It was very dangerous, all the heroin we had was coming from Turkey and Bulgaria. It was much stronger than Western heroin. What did they have in Poland?
It was called kompot – domestic Polish heroin. After one year, a Polish junkie looked like a Western junkie did after ten years.
Visiting Croatia, I noticed that Partibrejkers are still very popular there. In London, too, Serbs, Croats and Bosnians all love Partibrejkers. What do Partibrejkers stand for to these people?
What we sing about means the same to all of them. It’s not only for Serbs or Croats, it’s for all people. Even if you don’t understand the words, the music can grab the hearts of people, like yours for example. If it’s strong enough, it will find a way to the people’s hearts. Over time, our music and message hasn’t changed much, but both have become more articulate because we’ve matured.
Peace, love and happiness are the most important things in life. I’m not a hippie, but you have to struggle in the name of life, and you have to respect life. It’s very important to me to make my life better so I can dedicate myself to others.
That’s an unusual comment coming from a junkie.
Exactly, and it applies even morebecause I used to be a junkie. Back then, I was the bad boy in the band, but I wanted to get out of all that junk business and the complications that came with the lifestyle. It’s not only a question of addiction, it’s a question of having the wrong attitude to life. At one point in my life, I found god, and from that moment on, nothing has been the same. But of course, I am what I am. I’m not better, I just changed the angle from which I look at life. I’m trying to be a better person than I used to be.
Can you tell me something about the Rimtutituki project?
That was a band we spontaneously formed out of Partibrejkers members and two bands that we were friends with at the time: EKW and Electricni Orgasm. We agreed to do something in response to the mobilisation for war. I didn’t know much about it, but I had the wish to speak my mind against the war. It happened spontaneously, but then it developed into something that was more organised. I didn’t have anything to do with organising it later on, but I was happy to contribute to the cause. It meant a lot to many people.
A radio station in Belgrade helped us with the project. We wanted to send out a message to young people in the other republics – Bosnia and Croatia – and let them know there were young people in Serbia who opposed the war. It was our humble, futile attempt to do something. We knew it was impossible for us to change the course of things, but we still had to do it.