Farewell to Uncle Zlaja

“Miko, listen, you know how it goes…” always with a smile, but very serious when it was time to listen and give advice. With him, everyone could find their place. He was the good spirit of all those who tried, who had nowhere to show what they could do, but wanted a chance. Everyone had an opportunity and unconditional support from Uncle Zlaja. He was an eternal youth himself, and all of us were his youth.

I remember when my 25th birthday was approaching. I was never particularly interested in throwing birthday parties, so I simply asked him if I could get a slot that day for a gig with my band. When I arrived for the soundcheck, the entire club was decorated with balloons and signs—I got a real birthday celebration I never expected. Zlaja and Ljilja put in the effort, they loved everyone who came, and it didn’t matter whether you were a musician, a guest, or a random passerby, as long as you respected the place and the people who were part of it. And when that respect was missing, he could be tough—but never unfair. He loved his family and music more than anything… He loved people and Subotica, and he gave so much…

I first saw him at the Fly video rental store, back when I was still in high school, when I used to go there to rent films. I had no idea then how people we meet along the way can later become so important in our lives. 

Now, every time I pull cables before a concert or a film night, his voice echoes in my head. He always got annoyed because I never knew how to coil them properly, but it was never a problem for him to explain it again and again, with the same patience as the first time. He was always there to give advice, to help, to show up—even when he had health problems and could barely move. We could always count on him.

He gave us the chance to play when we were just starting out, when we sounded uncertain, sometimes even really bad. I think I can speak on behalf of my entire generation. Every time I recorded a new song, he would tell me to bring a USB so we could listen to it in the club, hear how it sounds on proper speakers, check the mix, and give me advice.

He recognized in me what I love doing and what I do today at Klara i Rosa—finding bands, booking, organizing. And I got my first opportunity for that from him. Whether I was organizing gigs at his place in Mladost or elsewhere, there was never even a hint of competition. Only sincere support, because we all loved the same thing. He had a huge influence on what I do and how I do it.

I remember how we would stay after gigs and talk for hours. One night, as we were leaving the club, he grabbed the door handle and said: “Youth, don’t be scared!” Only when he opened the door did we realize why he said that—the sun blinded us, we hadn’t even noticed it was morning. Time moved differently there…

Zlaja’s removal from the Mladost space was a direct blow to the city’s culture. The Subotica alternative music scene owed much of its peak to him. We once had many original bands, but that is no longer the case. Only the most persistent remained, and most of them got their first chances precisely in that space. Today, young people lack motivation because they don’t have someone to nurture them, support them, and give them space the way he did—selflessly, without calculation or hidden agenda.

Even after Mladost closed, he stayed present—always on the move, often on a bicycle. The point was never the basement venue itself, but him and the people he gathered. He would call from time to time to grab coffee, to talk about what’s new, which bands we would bring to Subotica. He didn’t give up… He was planning to open a club near Klara i Rosa, and I was looking forward to it—we would create a small alternative neighborhood together… but it wasn’t meant to be… He would say, “Miko, we’re going to annoy the neighbors,” smiling and rubbing his hands. He always loved joking, especially at his own expense.

He will certainly remain in the hearts of everyone who played at his place, came to listen to music, or simply stopped by for a drink and conversation (or a “Zlajka Milosnica”). Uncle Zlaja was much more than a man—he was opportunity, support, friend and mentor, and a light that will continue to warm all of us who had the luck to know him.

Author: Anamarija Tumbas