In the second half of the 1970s, Yugoslav rock was entering a golden age. Bands like Bijelo Dugme ruled the airwaves, but under the surface, a new generation was forming — one that would bring sharper guitar riffs, punk attitude, and a touch of melancholy to the sound of the region. Out of Zagreb emerged Parni Valjak, a band that would go on to help define the pop-rock mainstream, but whose early years carried a more rock-and-roll edge.
Formed in 1975 and fronted by Aki Rahimovski on vocals and Husein Hasanefendić (or Hus) on guitar, Parni Valjak were touted as Bijelo Dugme’s rivals — their Zagreb-based competitors, slightly less theatrical, but no less ambitious. After their military service, Hus and Aki returned with renewed energy, teaming up with producer Valentino Maggioni in Milan and a lineup that included Ivan “Piko” Stančić (formerly of Time) on drums and even Azra’s Branimir “Džoni” Štulić on guitar. The result was Gradske Priče (“City Stories”) — an album that bridges the old-school rock & roll of the ’70s and the punk-tinged energy that would soon define the Yugoslav ’80s.
The record kicks off with 700 Milja od Kuće, a warm, soft rock tune that feels like the open road — easygoing, melodic, and inoffensive in the best way. It’s the sound of long summer drives and late-night bars, a gentle invitation rather than a statement. Klinka leans further into blues rock, grooving along like a Yugoslav cousin of The Doors.
Moja Bolja Polovica and Vruće Usne push the band’s pop instincts to the forefront — catchy, radio-friendly, and rooted in the optimism of the late ’70s. They’re not revolutionary, but they’re executed with such charm and tight musicianship that it’s hard not to smile through them.
Then comes the turning point. Ulične Tuče jolts the listener awake with its punk spirit — faster, rawer, and more dangerous. Suddenly, Parni Valjak sounds like a band caught between two worlds: the blues-driven past and the restless punk energy of the future.
The second half of Gradske Priče is where things get truly fascinating. Oaza introduces a darker, grungier tone — simple but heavy guitar riffs that feel almost prophetic. It’s followed by Hrast, a song whose chord progression eerily mirrors Nirvana’s About a Girl. Whether coincidence or not, it’s hard not to imagine a young Krist Novoselic — who spent his teenage years in Zadar — hearing this sound and carrying a fragment of it across the Atlantic. The idea that Parni Valjak may have indirectly shaped the DNA of grunge is wild, but somehow fitting.
By Jablane!, the band fully embraces their rock & roll roots. The song, co-written with Džoni Štulić, would later appear in Azra’s catalog as well — a testament to the tight creative circle that shaped Zagreb’s late ’70s rock scene. Parni Valjak may not have perfected this sound as Azra soon would, but they helped lay its foundation.
Gradske Priče is an album that feels transitional — the sound of a band and a scene on the verge of transformation. It’s fun, accessible, and steeped in the aesthetics of its era, but it also hints at the revolution to come. Beneath the pop polish, you can hear the grit, the tension, and the raw emotion that would soon erupt across Yugoslavia’s new wave of punk music.
In the end, Parni Valjak’s debut may not be their most iconic record, but it’s one of their most important. It captures a moment when the old guard met the new, when Zagreb was buzzing with energy, and when a few young musicians unknowingly helped write the next chapter of Ex-YU rock history.
