ReMusica Festival offers access for all in Kosovo

Of all the countries in the Balkans, Kosovo is, in many British people's minds, perhaps the most synonymous with instability and conflict. Rather like Kiev or Kyiv in the Ukraine war, the spelling itself is a symbol of political sympathies. Spelt with an 'o' it reflects siding with Serbia's claims on the territory as well as indecision by many international organisations, including the European Union, of which it is still a self-governing protectorate. Spelling the name with an 'a' (Kosova) or an 'ë'(Kosovë), reflects the wishes of the majority of the population who speak Albanian, not Serbian: the root of the problem. They reject Slav culture, follow a very mild version of Islam as well as equally mild Catholicism, and generally preferred their association with the Ottoman empire to that of the northern Balkans' attachment to Austria-Hungary or Russia.

The Kosovan capital, Prishtina, with the architecturally notable National Library of Kosovo in the foreground ©Adobe Stock

After full rebellion against Serbian rule erupted in 1999, the country was left in a miserable position, its fragile peace held by UN garrisons while it started to invent its own government. It was only a few months later that I visited for the first time, tasked with helping devise a workable cultural policy. Over the following six years, until the EU took control from the UN and slowed much of the work through lack of liaison, I spent many weeks there talking through problems with members of the arts community, politicians and even the police. It was in these febrile years – as is so often the case – that people in the arts became most inventive. Both the Prishtina Chamber Music Festival and the ReMusica Contemporary Music Festival emerged in the earliest years of this century, despite massive challenges. Composer Philip Glass and actor Vanessa Redgrave were among ReMusica's first supporters in 2002.

This month's four-day ReMusica Festival ran from 5 to 8 November in the capital, Prishtina, and in Prizren, Kosova's second city. The festival’s 23^rd edition was directed by Donika Rudi, the daughter of the festival's founder Rafet Rudi who himself celebrated his 75th birthday by conducting two events. With 14 concerts and an intense series of discussions, it was a packed four-day programme presenting a range of events from a workshop for children using instruments made from recycled materials to recitals by Kosova's emerging superstars, soprano Elbenita Kajtazi and guitarist Petrit Çeku. Given the very limited exposure Kosova has had to early music, Donika Rudi is treating it as new music, partnering with the Jordi Savall Festival in Catalonia and bringing soprano Raquel Andueza and lutenist Fernando Baena (whose theorbo caused mild chaos at our airline departure gate in Vienna) to ReMusica.

Prishtina's Grand Hotel, once the centre of the city, has fallen toward dereliction, but still hosted Festival 'pocket concerts' in the Barabar Arts Centre on one of its floors ©Adobe Stock

Prishtina itself has changed massively over the last two decades. As in the case of so many Eastern European cities, contact with the EU has seen a new airport built and a flurry of new roads, shops, hotels and restaurants. There are paradoxes too. The Grand Hotel (pictured above), which used to be the fulcrum of business life, is basically derelict, its stripped out fourth floor repurposed as a basic concrete space renamed the Barabar Arts Centre and used by the festival for its intimate afternoon 'pocket concerts', like that by the Italian experimental accordionist Margherita Berlanda. In the main square the theatre is still being refurbished and discussions continue about the design and function of a new concert hall. A city-wide cultural strategy is being pushed by its mayor, Përparim Rama; an architect who has lectured on planning at several British universities and has a practice in London, which might give grounds for hope.

In the meantime, the only sizeable venue is the smaller half of the city's sports complex. The big hall burnt out several years ago so only its junior neighbour is available. With clever lighting and acres of curtains, it makes a welcoming and informal space with surprisingly good acoustics. The ad hoc nature of the venues gives ReMusica the huge advantage of not having to fight any battles about being elitist or hidden away. The point is rammed home by this year’s festival theme ‘togetherness’.

ReMusica Vocal Ensemble and team in Prizren Cathedral with festival founder Rafet Rudi and this year's festival director, his daughter Donika Rudi, in the centre ©Kadrolli

The festival is also free – nowhere will you find a reference to tickets or prices; just turn up and listen, whether in the sports hall or in Prizren's cathedral. Sponsors and partners cover costs, and all the concerts are filmed for the festival's archive, now an extensive collection. Since 2002 ReMusica and its vocal ensemble, ReVocal, have commissioned more than 500 new works, a record that puts most others in the shade.

Donika Rudi has come up with an innovative format for the evenings, pairing two very different performances of just over an hour each so that the audience is faced with real contrast. The first evening paired Elbenita Kajtazi’s recital of operatic arias with the extraordinary Siparantum Choir, which has won gold medals in the last year at competitions in South Korea, Sweden, Spain and Belgium. With members aged 16 to 70 they sang by heart with complex choreography, delivering repertoire ranging from contemporary Albanian to South African.

In the festival mornings, there were panel discussions between visiting festival directors from other countries and young composers and musicians building their careers out from Kosova to the rest of Europe, now that they have visa-free access for the first time. There is a buzz and self-confidence in the country that seems to be recent: Prizren is hoping to be European Capital of Culture one day (its mayor was emphasising the point in Berlin the day after the ReMusica concerts), and Prishtina is young, both in population and infrastructure. Despite the lack of money and uncertain politics, it feels like a place with a purpose where, whether institutions function well or not, people get on with doing things their own way, untroubled by tourism and outside expectations.