The legend of Milia

A few days ago, a video of the celebration of the end of classes at the Josip Jović Police School in Zagreb, where last Thursday, July 15, young Croatian cadets danced in the middle of the police academy - Užičko kolo. A national scandal exploded, the unfortunate XNUMX-year-old cadet who filmed the Serbian dernek was expelled from the famous police academy, and further sanctions were announced against the "dancers" and those responsible for this, as it were, unprecedented incident.

On the same day, as history knows how to screw things up - that same Thursday, July 15 - the biggest names of Serbian folk music gathered in front of the House of Culture in Barajevo, near Belgrade: until late into the night, the tiny lace of the folk dugmetara echoed through the Lipovick forest, just like as if it was the end of classes at the Croatian police academy, and not the ceremonial opening of the traditional manifestation "Days of Buca Jovanović, Radoj Mitrović Barajević and the Spasojević brothers". What does the Narodnik dernek near Belgrade have to do with the scandal in Zagreb on the same day? Oh, there is. And those, one would say, very good ones.

Buca, Radoje and the slightly older Spasojević brothers, in whose honor a folk memorial is held every July in Barajevo, were the big four, accordion virtuosos, the "Šumadija duo" and the "Lipovič style", what we hear today when we close our eyes and imagine the Serbian folk music. The Spasojević brothers from neighboring Meljak were the fathers of the "Lipovic style" themselves. "Two peasants from Meljak" came to Belgrade as boys and honed their craft in the taverns there during the Second World War, and after the liberation they also played on Radio Belgrade: they were offered a permanent job in the National Orchestra there, but they could not do without audience.

Ilija, the older and more serious, academic accordion artist, played in the better Belgrade taverns - in the cult Skadarlija he accompanied Cunet, Tozovac and Silvana Armenulić - while the younger Milija was of a more restless spirit and temperament, the fastest right-hander of the Ibarska magistral: Dallape's five-line diatonic accordion with an ostentatious with his name engraved Milija tamed the devil himself.

And while Ilija later dedicated himself to writing today's classics of "newly composed folk music", Milija, the tamed devil, got involved in the folk circle, writing almost everything that is generally considered folk in that genre today: Meljačko, Lipovičko, Bačevačko kolo, and the legendary Džumbus. kolo and the exotic Orient, and before and after all the widely known kolo that will become synonymous with Serbian folk music.

How and when Milija wrote that famous circle is not known for sure, nor is there anyone left to tell. At the height of his fame and his own myth, Milija just disappeared from the bar one day - he could no longer, he said, bear the arrogant behavior of his fellow managers, for whom he and his wife Nada, an excellent bar singer, were clowns for entertainment - and set off across the ocean , that the uninformed Serbian diaspora is jamming US dollars into his ribs.

Only myths and legends remain about the origin of his famous car, one of which I heard myself in the iconic Domovina, a noble Belgrade tavern on Revolucije Boulevard, in whose glorious history live music was recorded only in those long-ago days when Ilija and Milija were there. Well, as I heard that story, that's how I pass it on: if they lied to me, I'm lying to you too.

For example, during the Second World War, the two "brothers from Meljak" together with the young comedian Milan Srdoč performed at Belgrade's Kolarac, in an entertainment program called "Veselo veče", from which, after the war, a cult weekly radio show of the same name was created. One summer evening - says the legend - Milija was approached after the performance by a certain Momčilo, who introduced himself as the head of the Department for Special Hybrid Warfare at the Main Headquarters of the Yugoslav Army in the Fatherland, and handed over the task to the young accordion player, whose bravado at the races had already been heard as far as Ravna Gora. from General Draža Mihailović personally.

And the General ordered Milija to come up with such a wild and playful circle from which the Croats themselves would throw weapons, and the Umagians would dance, knit finely with their Central European lacquered shoes and twirl their silk handkerchiefs, so that, as Uncle Draža said, "they would be directed what to do next from the Church, the family, the Motherland and tradition", until they completely forget their origin and identity and culture and their Croatian self, so that they fall into national unconsciousness by jumping and tangling their feet.

For six days, they say, Milija searched his "dalapac", and on the seventh day he informed Momcila that he had something. And then, to test it, Momčilo also brought a Croatian writer to the tavern, you may have heard of him, his name was Gustav Krklec, in those days he edited the magazine "Graničar" in Zemun. So the group ordered a Užice mućkalica and two kilos of white, and when Milija belted his beast after lunch and danced "twos" with his fingers, the Croatian bard, eyewitnesses say, just jumped from his chair, stuck his left thumb under his armpit, twisted a napkin with his right hand, then he started walking around the bar: three steps to the right, three steps in place, three steps to the left, then a right behind the left, then a left in syncopation, then he made smaller steps, smaller and smaller, until at the end, with Milija's wild harmonica, it was like soullessly ran out to Skadarlija, tramping down the entire Dorćol and shouting "Long live Serbia!".

- Unbelievable! - said to the amazed Momcilo. - What were you thinking of calling this circuit?

- I know - Milija leaned over the accordion to dip a piece of bun into the shaker - maybe Užičko.

- Užice circuit? - asked Momcilo. - What Uzicko?

- Well, according to the Užice mućkalica.

That's how the famous Užice circle was born, the most famous of all Serbian folk circles. Or at least that's what I heard: after buying, I said, after selling.

A whole century has passed since then, neither general Draža nor agent Momčilo is anymore, not even the unfortunate Mr. Krklec - after that evening, they say, he completely recovered, went to Užičko all day, got itchy and moved to Slankamen in Srem, they barely annexed him later back to Croatian culture - and Milija, Jimi Hendrix's "Šumadija duo", has long been gone, who will return from distant Chicago to his native Meljak only in a tin box: behind everything, only the famous Užice circle remains, today a common place and synonymous with Serbian folk music.

Few people know that the famous folk circle even has an author with a first and last name, let alone that it was created as a secret Chetnik weapon in the hybrid war against the Croats. And indeed, ever since then, as soon as they hear the infectious Užička, Croats panic like Krklec and hold hands, then in a trance they knit with lacquered shoes and wave silk handkerchiefs, moving away from the Church, family, Homeland and tradition with small steps, forgetting both origin and identity and culture and their Croatian SELF, until they fall into national unconsciousness by jumping and tangling their feet like that.

Ten years ago, let's say, you will remember that affair, in Užičko, at the young mass of a brother in Livno, the friars themselves got caught, and the ring leader was - the bishop! Then, five or six years ago, high school graduates from Vukovar itself, the City of Heroes, joined the Užice circuit. Then shocking footage from Germany went around the world, where Croatian fans celebrated Croatia's victory over Turkey at the European Championship by dancing the infamous Užička in the streets of Frankfurt. Then, two years ago, the famous Užičko played in the middle of Split's Riva.

Just two weeks ago, for example, Milija's Circle - to the delight of passers-by and the horror of Vasa Brkić - folklorists from Serbia played in the very heart of Zagreb, in the middle of Jelačić Square! "There is too much silent political violence by which they direct us as far as possible from the Church, family, Homeland and tradition," Commissioner Vaso saw through them. "I guess our people should still dance the Užice circle! We have to represent our identity and our Croatian SELF!"

Finally, last Thursday, at the opening of the "Day of Buca Jovanović, Radoj Mitrović Barajević and the Spasojević brothers" in Zagreb, cadets of the Police Academy, the very future guard of Croatian identity, the Church, the family, the Homeland, tradition and the Croatian self, played the Užička circle. Twenty-five years after the war, the victorious Croatia got caught up in the Užice Round. It's all over, write failed. Serbia won.

Or at least she would have won if the head of the Department for Hybrid War at the Croatian Revolutionary Brotherhood in Stuttgart had not approached a young singer of the Yugoslav pop group Tony Stars, which was then playing in its native clubs in Germany. That singer's name was Oliver Dragojević, or something like that, don't take my word for it. After he bought, he sold it: if they lied to me, I lie to you.

(portalnovosti.com)