Album Review: Era by Andrija Ojdanić – A Folk Gem from 1992
Alright, let’s talk about Era, the 1992 folk album by Andrija Ojdanić. Straight off the bat, this isn’t your run-of-the-mill folk record—it’s got soul, grit, and a vibe that feels like sitting around a fire with friends, sharing stories you’ll never forget. Released in Yugoslavia under the PGP RTB label, this album has some serious heart to it. The arrangements? On point, thanks to D. Janković. The photography? Stunning, courtesy of Đani Gol. And those tracks? Man, they stick with you.
Now, I’m not gonna lie—there are moments on this album where you just wanna close your eyes and soak it all in. Two tracks really stood out for me: “Kad Se Ljubav Za Ljubav Ne Vrati” and “Hej, Srbijo.” Let me break it down.
“Kad Se Ljubav Za Ljubav Ne Vrati” hits different. It’s one of those songs that sneaks up on you. At first, it feels like any other nostalgic folk tune, but then the lyrics sink in. You start thinking about lost love, second chances, and how life doesn’t always give you what you want. The melody is simple yet haunting, kinda like when you hear an old memory echoing in your head. By the end of it, you’re not sure if you should cry or grab a drink to numb the feels. Either way, it stays with you.
Then there’s “Hej, Srbijo,” which is more of a rallying cry than a song. It’s got this raw energy that makes you wanna stand up and shout along. Whether you understand every word or not (and yeah, I had to look up some of the lyrics), the passion is undeniable. There’s something about the rhythm and the swelling orchestra—shoutout to Orkestar Dragana Jankovića—that gets your blood pumping. It’s patriotic without being cheesy, emotional without being overdone. Honestly, it’s the kind of track that could make even someone who doesn’t speak Serbian feel proud of something.
The rest of the album flows pretty well too. Tracks like “Čekam I Čekaću” and “Dva Drugara” keep things grounded with their storytelling vibes, while “Grešnicu Sam Zavoleo” adds a touch of drama that almost feels cinematic. Mića Đorđević did a solid job editing everything together so it feels cohesive, and kudos to Stanko Terzić for whatever mysterious “other” magic he sprinkled in.
What strikes me most about Era is how timeless it feels. Even though it came out in 1992—a year that seems ancient now—it doesn’t sound dated. Maybe it’s because folk music taps into something universal, or maybe it’s just Andrija Ojdanić’s knack for writing stuff that resonates. Whatever it is, it works.
Here’s the random thought I’ll leave you with: listening to this album made me realize how much we lose when cultures fade away. Yugoslavia might be gone, but albums like Era remind us of its heartbeat. So next time you’re scrolling through Spotify looking for something real, give this one a shot. Who knows? You might find yourself humming “Hej, Srbijo” at odd hours of the night.
