‘We were happy because we had just witnessed the renaissance of Serbian culture. ‘At that event, the judges were crying,’ he continued. According to Stojić, who is 88, the first gathering took place outside the Church of Archangel Gabriel – appropriately. ‘There were four bands at the competition in 1961,’ Nikola Stojić, one of the founders of the festival, told me outside the museum. The scene was set to the never-waning soundtrack of small guerrilla horn-and-drum orchestras roaming the streets, restaurant patios and cafes. People shuttled between beer kiosks, food stations and the dwindling oases of shade beneath trees. Roasting pigs rotated on spits next to casserole dishes of ‘wedding cabbage’, platters of grilled vegetables and bowls of ajvar (sauce made from roasted peppers). Vendors manned tables brimming with nourishment necessary to sustain long periods of drinking and dancing. Spit-roasted pigs and casserole dishes slow-cooked over hot coals in Guča © Aleksandar Donev / Lonely Planetīy the time I made it to the Trumpet Museum that afternoon, the festival had changed. Marković won ‘first trumpet’ five times between 19.) The tourism director sat back in his chair, and with typical Serbian nonchalance finished his rakija and said: ‘Yes, don’t worry. (The title Trumpet Master is bestowed on a player who has won at least three awards at Guča over the years. When I think about what that means, it gives me goosebumps.’īefore leaving Mr Dramlić’s office, I asked the question that would become my festival refrain: ‘Is it possible to meet Boban Marković?’ I knew the Trumpet Master was headlining Friday night’s show on the big stage, where thousands pack a field the size of a football pitch. Many people – approximately 150,000 – will show up. But it’s simple: people here love the trumpet. ‘This is a really traditional Serbian festival. He poured a third and explained that during the festival performances were judged and awards presented to categories including best trumpeter, top brass bands and audience-choice. We had already drained two glasses of rakija (local homemade schnapps). ‘I’ve been to every festival for the last 25 years since my grandfather first brought me,’ said Mr Dramlić from behind his desk. Talented participants in the childrens' competition at the Guča Trumpet Festival © Aleksandar Donev / Lonely Planet My first order of business, before the floodgates opened, was to meet with Vukašin Dramlić, a Guča native and the director of the Dragačevo-Guča tourism organisation. Instead of boarding up windows, residents on both sides of the Bjelica River were preparing for a different phenomenon: the impending rush of food, alcohol and people. When I arrived to the village, the mood was still quiet – like the silence before a storm. Its passengers, shoulder-to-shoulder on bench seats, sang with abandon and passed around a clear, label-less plastic bottle. A van, with a mattress roped to the roof and brass instruments pressed against the rear window, coughed and lurched up a rise. As I turned onto the road leading to Guča, a community of about 3000 full-time citizens, the first indication of the trumpet festival and competition – which began nearly six decades ago and draws hundreds of thousands of music devotees from around the world – appeared. Then the dense forests give way to perched villages with manicured vegetable-garden aprons and orchards of sweet cherries, plums and apricots. The drive across Serbia’s Dragačevo Region, about three hours south of Belgrade, rolls over an undulating landscape carpeted with beech, oak and fir trees. Outdoor riverside cafes packed with festival-goers in the village of Guča © Aleksandar Donev / Lonely Planet I’ve been chasing Guča – and Boban Marković – ever since. The song, the DJ said, was a live recording from the Guča Trumpet Festival where, he assured me, I would eat more, drink more and listen to more horn music than I thought possible. The instruments shrieked and leapt together, ratcheting the room to frenzied levels – an intoxicating jambalaya of Dixieland brass and the driving, all-night urgency of Roma-spawned backbeats. Then, in one ecstatic note, melody and rhythm met in a riot of hedonism in which sweat-soaked, ruffle-cuffed tuxedo shirts pressed against cocktail dresses. Tubas and bass drums began to bubble up in support. The room stopped as the first notes from his mournful trumpet warbled.
Between soul and funk tracks, the DJ snuck in a number from Boban Marković, horn-player extraordinaire from Serbia. I first heard traditional Balkan truba (trumpet) music at a party years ago.
Traditional brass bands parade through Guča during the 2017 Trumpet Festival © Aleksandar Donev / Lonely Planet