Branko Črnac Tusta, the singer of Croatia's (and earlier, Yugoslavia's) longest-lived and best-loved punk rock band KUD Idijoti, has passed away two days ago, after battling cancer for almost two years. It's hard to explain even to myself exactly what this means to me. He and the band he was fronting for 27 years have been the entry point to punk rock for almost every punk fan in Yugoslavia aged between 13 and what, 43? He has been openly and passionately voicing his support for antifascist and antinationalist views during every moment of his long (but still not long enough) career; even, or perhaps especially, during times when this was least desirable by the majority. He was always present, always available and always approachable; Facebook is right now flooded with what seems to be a picture of every kid alive next to him in a club, at a show, in a restaurant or on the street. I don't think I have ever visited his town of Pula without passing him by somewhere on a street, and feeling happy and proud that I KNOW and FEEL and SHARE the amazing music he was making. The songs he sang contain more love for People than any national anthem ("people", not "A people"); and I believe they'll last longer, too. Their use of the red five-point star has gotten them in trouble both when it was a beloved state symbol, and later, when it was a hated reminder of a communist past; I think the reason was that they understood the symbol better and have done it more justice than either of their prosecutors. I have seen lots of their shows, and was never less than overwhelmed after they finished. I have seen them in small clubs, at huge open-air festivals and also at a neighbourhood celebration in a park between buildings; and no matter whether I paid 5, 450, 70 or 0 for the show, no matter whether they played with D.O.A. (who reportedly insisted the headliner/support roles be reversed, fearing appearing on stage after them), Kraftwerk, Anthrax or Franz Ferdinand, their show was always the best one of any evening. I have never had second thoughts about traveling for 200-300 km to see a second Idijoti show in a month; now that they are, incredibly and unbelievably, gone, I'm sorry I didn't go see them two times a week. I know I am rambling, but it's so hard to come to terms with the end of a thing, a relationship if you will, that has been here for me since I was fifteen, and for others, well, basically since before I was born; and that has provided me with reassurance, love and happiness through countless tapes, LP's, singles, CD's, shows, bootleg MP3's, archive YouTube clips, interviews, quotes, singalongs at shows, parties, beaches and parks, and a few exchanged words and a handshake, just to have a little feel of the person behind all the aforementioned. Tusta was not a saint and I don't want or need to paint such a picture of him; we are all faulted, all shorter and uglier than our ideals, but for me seeing a regular guy reach for the stars, be they red and five-pointed or otherwise, means much more than contemplating a faultless imaginary friend of a god, saint or angel variety. What Tusta has been doing for most of his life will always remain a significant part of who I am and who many others, similar or different to me, are; and for creating and nurturing this part of me, I am forever grateful.
With this post I am including a scan of the original KUD Idijoti lyrics book, "Zbrka pjesama", from 1988. Perhaps it'll help some of the future singalongs be more accurate wording-wise, now that Tusta cannot lead anymore.
And if you need a reminder on how great they were, there are six excellent old shows in
this earlier post.
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| I'm no exception. Pula, 2005. |
