History and music of the Kosovo queer dance scene

Per

Jimmy Trash

· May 23, 2024

Photos of Tadi

In recent years, the leaders of Eastern Europe have discussed the topic of LGBTQ rights rather cynically. Rather than treating it as an issue with real consequences for individuals living within their borders, the political class of those aspiring to EU membership, such as Kosovo, have treated it as a political bargaining chip that can help speed up their admission into the ranks of the Union.

In the cultural sphere of Kosovo, electronic music is treated with similar neglect. It is considered “frivolous art” and has been relegated to the underground, far beyond the reach of art scholarship and media coverage. Adding to these obstacles, publicly presenting as a queer artist and using queer iconography in the capital Prishtina was a completely unthinkable career option, until musician Tadi and her sister Linda aka Mátale launched the first open queer dance events in the capital of Kosovo in 2017, calling them “Prishtinë is burning”.

“Admittedly, it was because of the documentary Paris is burning that we discovered the Ballroom culture”, admits Tadi, who recently performed with the electronic music legend Objekt at the Belgrade Apagrade festival. It was an unusual feat of recognition for a queer artist from the Kosovo scene. The rise of far-right politics and nationalism that followed Milosevic’s rule during the 90s stifled the recognition of queer culture until the end of the war. consequently, any documentation of this community in the ’80s and ’90s is scant, although ‘zines’ Lira have began to collect memories era through interviews with community members and activists. The first documented lesbian wedding in the Federal Republic of Yugoslavia—albeit more symbolic than legal—was performed in Belgrade in 1996. It was between Tadi’s great-aunt, the well-known feminist and ethnic Albanian queer activist Igballa Rugova, and her British girlfriend. The impression he left on young Tadija would encourage her own history making in that area.

“When I was designing flyers for my friends’ techno parties, I would put a bit of queerness in them, just to test the boundaries,” Tadi recalls. “Gay friends would ask, ‘Is this for us too?’ It made me realize how a small difference can really make a difference in who will feel comfortable participating.” But ultimately, Tadi and Linda wanted more than just access to the cultural gates — they wanted a truly shame-free space, where people could be who they are. .

They approached the first “Prishtinë gori” party with attention—and a little trepidation. “I went to Berlin, looking for used clothes and big heels for our performers because we don’t have them in Kosovo,” Tadi remembers. “We were scared and excited. We wanted to feel public and without the police.” In the end, they had to compromise with local authorities and allow the presence of a civilian police force to quell any potential for violence. That first event went off without incident, although only five drag performers felt comfortable enough to perform in front of an audience.

That quickly changed, and by the third edition the event had grown so much that Tadi and Matale had to get a last-minute loan to rent a local theater so the event could run all night. “Most of the people who came to the parties were young kids, from cities and more rural areas, so we didn’t want to charge anyone,” says Tadi. “But for that, we reluctantly asked for two euros per ticket so that we could pay off the loan!”

The success of the event broke the taboo of public queerness and a generation of uninhibited Kosovar female artists emerged who no longer had to present themselves as “straight” in their stage presence. New collectives like Hyjneshat, BLISSBLISSBLISSSS and Tadi’s feminist collective Bijat began to emerge. The first queer bar, Bubble Pub, opened in Pristina, with Dylberizem, the first queer news portal. “My sister and I felt we could retire,” says Tadi. “We did our job. We were happy to work together, but now we could let others lead.” says Tadi.

Here is a list of electronic musicians who managed to perform authentic love (and hate!) songs about their preferred partners, enhance their stage performances or simply express themselves more visually thanks to the pioneering work of Tadi and Linda and the acceptance and courage of the performers of the Kosova Dance Hall.

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“If you’re a queer person in Kosovo, it’s your queer family that does it to you, so the reality is a little more bearable,” says experimental electronic artist Eljesa. “As an electronic music artist from Kosovo, our main source of information was the internet and getting inspiration from it. We would find artists we thought we would never see or hear perform live. Our way of traveling was through music sites and Pristina, which hosted electronic artists who would perform and give us a glimpse of the world.”

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Qendresa is a proud representative of the Kosovar diaspora in North London, where her parents immigrated in 1989. She maintains closeness to her roots through frequent return trips to play Pristina clubs. Throughout the former Soviet bloc, it is not uncommon to hear the phrase “We are 20 years behind” when describing the cultural scene. In the case of Qendres, it was a blessing; her ’90s R&B vibes and stellar graphic design work—the latter clearly tied to her early career in the fashion industry—hear that bygone era without simply emulating it.

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Leart is a successful filmmaker and key promoter and curator of Dokunight, one of the largest and most important festivals in the region. His music was initially produced for large A/V shows, but also stood out in intimate and unique live performances. “Being an artist in Kosovo has its perks, but most of the time it’s a never-ending struggle to get your voice heard,” he says. “Regardless of your artistic field, living in Kosovo means going through constant obstacles as you try to establish yourself. Improving one’s career trajectory can be incredibly challenging—especially when many people are unaware of our country rental, let alone his artistic contributions. Since the 90s, Kosovo has been hiding a huge potential for the underground scene. Now I see a gradual awakening after the post-Covid slumber.”

Although she lived most of her career in Amsterdam, Astrit first made waves with a scandalous (by Balkan standards!) music video 2014, which was filmed near the Orthodox church near the campus of the University of Pristina. (The Church wasted no time accusing them of blasphemy.) Their album is powerful, boosted by a guest appearance by Mykki Blanco.

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Established brutalist designer and techno producer Zgjim Elshani has found a home in Amsterdam—which makes sense: his songs have the same dizzying and aggressive pace as the regionally popular electronic subgenre’s chatter. He is also the co-founder of Angry Youth, a collective club night and label that has been operating in Kosovo since 2012, and he collaborated on Astrit Ismaili’s debut.