Album Review: Vino Ljubav I Kafana 1 – Vino Točim A Vino Ne Pijem
Alright, let’s talk about this gem from 2007, Vino Ljubav I Kafana 1 – Vino Točim A Vino Ne Pijem. It’s a Serbian and Montenegrin folk album that feels like sitting in some cozy kafana late at night with your buddies, sipping rakija, telling stories, and maybe crying over lost love. The vibes are strong here—like really strong.
The album has 15 tracks total, but two stand out for me personally because they’re just stuck in my head for different reasons. First up is “Vino Točim, A Vino Ne Pijem” (which also happens to be part of the album title). This one hits hard emotionally, even if you don’t understand every word. The melody is hauntingly simple, almost like an old-school sing-along around a campfire—but instead of marshmallows, there’s wine flowing freely. You can hear the raw emotion in the vocals, and it makes you think about life choices or regrets. Like, why am I pouring wine when I’m not drinking it? Deep stuff, man.
Then there’s “Jesenje Lišće”, which translates to "Autumn Leaves." Oh wow, this track brings back memories of crunching leaves underfoot during fall walks while feeling all moody and introspective. There’s something so bittersweet about how the singer belts out these lines—it’s nostalgic without being cheesy. Plus, whoever wrote this clearly knows what it’s like to miss someone who’s long gone. If you’ve ever had those moments where you stare off into space thinking about the past, this song will wreck you—in a good way.
One thing I gotta say about the production: props to Kosta Vesković, who engineered AND compiled this whole thing. He managed to keep the authenticity intact without overproducing anything. It sounds like real people playing real instruments, ya know? And hats off to MVG for the design too—it matches the vibe perfectly, though I haven’t seen the physical copy myself.
Now, the style here is definitely rooted in traditional Balkan folk music. Tracks like “Razbila Se Čaša” and “Beli Bagrem” have that timeless feel, passed down through generations. Some tunes credit "Narodna," meaning they come straight from folklore, which adds another layer of soulfulness. These aren’t polished pop songs; they’re gritty, heartfelt, and unapologetically local.
What surprised me most about this album was its universal appeal despite being super specific to Serbian culture. Even if you don’t speak the language, you’ll still catch yourself humming along after a few listens. It’s that kind of record that grows on you slowly, like mold on bread—except in this case, it’s delicious.
Final thought: Listening to Vino Ljubav I Kafana 1 feels like eavesdropping on someone else’s conversation at a bar. At first, you’re not sure what’s going on, but then you realize their story could easily be yours. Weird analogy, yeah, but hey—that’s folk music for ya. Cheers to more albums like this making us feel deeply human.
