MY CROATIAN SAGA

Here’s my Croatian friend Luka (the name is fake, obviously).

He is a guitar player. Most of the time anyway. Sometimes he sings and sometimes he writes music.

Luka has way too much energy. If you connect him to a generator, he will produce enough electricity to power up a house. He can party for seven days non-stop. Then, after two hours of sleep he goes to the gym because he cares about his health. 

He is the only person I know who can defy laws of physics. For example he is able to play three gigs at the same time in three different venues in three different cities. It’s a well-known fact and anyone who had a pleasure of working with Luka can testify to that.

What else?

He is one of those people who like to get up early and spend the rest of the day running around and being late. His reasons for being late are a pure art form. He never goes for something boring like traffic of bad weather. His stories are full of suspense and drama and usually start like this – ‘You’ll never believe what just happened to me…’. Only once his creativity let him down. We were recording an album in my home studio. Luka came seriously late. He looked very tired and grumpy. I gave him a speech about discipline, responsibility, work ethics and suchlike, ending with – ‘So…What happened this time?’. He looked at me with his big, sad eyes and said – ‘Ok, here goes. Someone ate my dog. My car was impounded. My friend’s house was on fire and I had to rescue his baby. You choose which one you prefer. Can I have a coffee please?’. 

We were once invited to play music at our friends wedding. We played some, then we had a glass of wine, then we played some more and then we had another glass of wine. After four glasses of wine I decided to stop. I had to drive both of us to Dublin in the morning, and in order to survive the customary argument, which we were going to have on our way back, I had to be in a calm and relaxed state of mind.

Luka is one of those Stone Age people who read books. Real ones which you buy in a shop. He reads a lot and he reads just about everything, so he likes to think that reading makes him an expert in whatever he reads about at the moment. He loves to argue, and he loves to argue with me specifically. A theme of the argument largely depends on the book he is currently reading. Usually he starts argument by saying: ‘I am your friend, I like you, I know where you are coming from, I know you had a difficult life, I know you have a communist mentality, I know you are stubborn and you don’t like to agree, but you have to trust me ….’ This statement usually sets a tone for next 2-3 hours. I get angry and dive into the argument head first. We start arguing about which amplifier is best for vocals, then go straight to the World War One, computer programming, chemistry, Islam, few personal insults, Lincoln’s autobiography, Hitler, mono diet, Kabuki Theatre, philosophy, internal combustion engines, more insults, musical theory, politics… Then I lose the plot and start cursing. It makes Luka very happy. He puts on this grandfatherly smile which says – ‘see how patient I am.’ Which makes things worse. At one occasion, I got so angry, I jumped from the car in the middle of a motorway and said I’ll walk home. It didn’t work well as we were on tour in Sweden at the time. He came back and picked me up in twenty minutes, by which time we forgot why we were arguing, so we had to start a new thread.

And here’s a video from the gig we had on the same day.

KOSHKA in Sweden

Now you understand why I had to be in a perfect shape in order to drive Luka home. At around 1am we decided to retire and found out we have nowhere to go as our hosts forgot to book our rooms. They graciously offered us their own room instead. A bridal suite it was. And it was our only option, so we had to share. There are better ways to spend a night than to share with Luka, believe me. For the next hour he played football with my pillow. He wanted me to be a goalkeeper. I proposed we play hide and seek. He said – ‘Don’t be childish’. I refused to communicate, hid under the blanket and finally fell asleep. He woke me up in two hours, saying that he found a swimming pool and that we absolutely must to go for a swim. I said I’ll drown him in this swimming pool if he doesn’t let me sleep. He grabbed my towel and ran to the pool to play a yellow submarine. Thankfully he got tired and we didn’t argue on a way back. He slept. For most of the time he snored, but there were moments when he’d start muttering something. Angrily.

I think in his dream, we were having an argument.

I include this video for two reasons: It’s fast. I have hair.

KOSHKA in Norway