VILA Folk Ensemble: He Who Stays, We Call Tradition
Sunflowers line up on their plastic sheet, hanging high in the background, above the stage that waits to revive culture through the dancing of bodies, singing of souls and passions that play. It is the 21st June 2015 and we find ourselves in the village of Stara Pazova watching the Serbian Folk Ensemble ‘VILA’ at the country’s annual traditional folk concert. We are gazing upon the stage, wondering whether Serbia’s youth will conform to or break tradition?
Tucked away in the Serbian countryside a flute sings softly, wavering subtly and so the dancers glide out onto the stage listening to its call, forming circles. The Balkan beige shoes curve up toward each ‘VILA’ performer, and the stage is scattered with yellow scarves, tight plaits, white linen and rose embroidered knitwear. They wait, smile. A pause of anticipation whilst the next generation, nestled into the audience, screams. The body of watchers laugh together at the baby’s innocence.
“He who stays, we call tradition.”
Known as ‘guardians of culture’, these folk dancers and musicians from Novi Sad are an even split of young men and women ranging from 14 to 28. Amidst the country’s increasingly hectic urban lifestyle stands ‘VILA’ and their father figure, Mr Milorad Lonic, one of Serbia’s most renowned choreographers and ethnographers. Mr Lonic sees dance as a unique communication with the past and our ancestors, between what is lived on stage and the audience’s subconscious. With a hawk’s eye in rehearsals, he challenges each of his performers to feel the steps, to reignite tradition so that the mechanics of dance are melted away, so that the passion of the present glows in each step, each costume and each voice. It seems traditional folk dance is both ancestral and modern.
The male dancers take their place as accordions are readjusted and held close beneath the strap, the drum is fingered lightly. Then the show really begins. We see red lips open and out pours the song of the women whose words are handed down and through them from village to city. The women wander purposefully in twos and threes, and men follow. Lightly stepping, circles are formed, and forward, forward, they move toward the stage’s edge - the tempo is up and circles break, reform and open, filled full with both men and woman stamping earnestly with speed. Leaping across the stage, dancers drop into their step, the drum beats faster and oboe and saxophone take over, interjections of wild whistling and clapping of ankles, the men’s boots shake the stage, and in the front row, nostalgic tears roll down a woman’s face. A heart fills with changing speed and the change of tempo brings smiles to the dancers holding onto one another’s belts, strapped into the pace.
We cannot help but dance within, it is as if the audience joins the chain of young men and women; we feel our way to the stage. Necklaces of gold glisten and jingle upon chests, and circles gently break from gender, seamlessly merging into groups, dividing into pairs of male and female. Each marrying off, finding their new space outside the group. The dance leaves us with a replica of village marital bonds and the old feeling of community.
“He who stays, we call tradition.”
The importance of cultural tradition in Serbia is encapsulated in VILA’s commitment and love of dance. The group speak proudly of their talents and heritage. Arguably, and not surprisingly, folk dance has provided a nostalgic shelter for these performers. In light of the country’s constant upheaval and changing political landscape, the need for tradition to be present in the arts, and a sense of identity to be felt, is real. Tradition anchors them but will it weigh the art form down? We are yet to see if Serbian folk dance will ever break its much loved structures.
