After leaving Rani Mraz and stepping out on his own, Đorđe Balašević released Pub, his 1982 solo debut, which feels less like a traditional pop rock record and more like a half hour spent at the pub (or kafana) with a wise old fellow — one who never runs out of tales to tell. The songs swing between the lighthearted and the heartrending, while remaining grounded and unmistakably Balkan.
The opener, Ilona, sets the tone. A warm, mellow groove, led by easy-going guitars (courtesy of producer and Korni Grupa guitarist Josip Boček), it feels like a sunset drive with a whiff of JJ Cale or even early Beatles here — smooth and timeless.
But Pub isn’t content to stay mellow for long as Balašević quickly pivots to Ratnik Paorskog Srca, one of the album’s most powerful moments. Loosely translating to “Warrior of a Peasant’s Heart”, the track is steeped in sorrow and folk tradition — a tale of a man returning home from WWI, forever changed. It’s heartbreak rendered with Balkan folk touches that elevate its emotional weight. Lepa Protina Kći is another melancholic ballad, this time about a young boy falling for the daughter of a prostitute. It’s as haunting as it is delicate. Boček’s guitar work is at its most restrained here, allowing Balašević’s vocals, both fragile and tender, to carry the emotional weight. It echoes Leonard Cohen in its quiet poetry, while remaining grounded in regional experience.
Balašević isn’t afraid to contribute tongue and cheek elements either. Za Sve Je Kriv Toma Sojer is a wink to Mark Twain’s Tom Sawyer, complete with playful instrumentation and a tone that straddles satire and sentiment. Balašević plays the rogue narrator here — not mocking youth, but remembering it with a knowing smile. And later on we get Pesma O Jednom Petlu, a light, bouncing track about a rooster that’s almost certainly not just a rooster. Here, Balašević walks the line between innocence and innuendo.
Of course, Boža Zvani Pub is the centrepiece — the most well-known track on the album and possibly Balašević’s most iconic character sketch. It tells the story of a legendary gambler nicknamed Pub. The storytelling is sharp, the rhythm infectious, and the refrain unforgettable.
The album closes with Na Pola Puta, a ballad that circles back to the soft ache that lingers beneath the record’s lighter touches. Balašević’s melancholy cuts deep — it’s not overwrought, just honest.
Pub marks a cornerstone where Balašević plants his flag as not only a musician, but a narrator, poet, and voice that can turn laughter into bittersweet longing. The album flows effortlessly between genres — folk, pop rock, chanson — but it’s all held together by that unmistakable voice.
It’s a record without skips, one where each track brings a new shade of personality. And like the best stories, it rewards repeated listens — not just for the melodies, but also the memories they conjure.
