The other K-pop

Fan is a new column about the way fandom touches every sector of our culture. This is the fourth column in the series. Get caught up on our first three dispatches:

Moomin boom

Herzogians 

Pools, Hot Tubs, & Beaches

It’s a sunny day out, and I’m listening for the thousandth time to Dhurata Dora’s mega-viral hit, “Zemër” (Heart). As the music video starts to play, I’m bombarded with colors and patterns—clashing blues, yellows, and golds compete for my attention.

I find myself once again gazing at that grand building that looks so much like a Baroque palace (it’s actually a partially-completed hotel on the outskirts of Tirana, Albania), as the pantsuit-wearing Dora is being serenaded by Algerian superstar Soolking.

They joust in a playful back-and-forth, bantering in French and Albanian, as Dora sassily rejects Soolking’s advances:

Ti je fajtor që zemrën ma ke thy
Zemrën ma ke thy, oh zemrën ma ke thy
(You're guilty for breaking my heart
You’ve broken my heart, oh you've broken my heart)

Tu n'y crois pas mais j'sais que t'es ma future
Ouais, t'es ma future, j'sais que t'es ma future
(You don't believe it but I know you’re my future
Yeah, you're my future, I know you're my future)

“Zemër” currently has 807 million views on YouTube, and charted in Belgium, Switzerland, and France in 2019, but few in the English-speaking world have ever heard of the song. This, despite the fact that Dhurata Dora shares something in common with world-famous artists such as Dua Lipa and Rita Ora: Although she was born in Nuremberg, Germany, Dora’s parents come from the partially-recognized country of Kosovo. With a population of just 1.8 million people, 93 percent of which are ethnically Albanian, Kosovo is less than one-fourth the size of New York City, but its thriving music industry churns out hundreds of pop songs each year. Many of these rack up millions of views on YouTube. You can instantly tell a Kosovo pop music video by its eye-catching aesthetic: bright colors, sprawling aerial shots of the Mediterranean region’s natural beauty, designer clothes and fancy cars. Attractive men and women dance exuberantly on yachts, in mountain towns, or by the beach.

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One Click Is All It Takes, Falling In Love With Me

Kosovo’s music scene so wonderfully punches above its musical weight, and you can trace that directly to the power of the community at its core. It unites far-flung Albanians dealing with the weight of political conflict, and creates space for them to bond no matter how far away from home they are. And yes, it helps that the music kicks ass. 

One thing about community is that people go where the signals are. They click on what they like, subscribe to channels they’re interested in, and, crucially, ignore what they don’t care about. They can smell a fake from a mile away. 

There’s this mistaken idea about advertising—that it can convince you to do or buy anything. But your friends have a better chance of accomplishing that than the ads you see, and that’s why people are more community-driven than ever. Entering that kind of group requires a level of earned trust.

Today’s most successful brands build trust because they engage with and support those communities. They’re authentic, create connections, and deliver experiences that make the collective better. Their end goal isn’t to sell a product to a community—their end goal is the community. That’s how brand love is fostered.

At Codeword, we’re on a mission to help brands build authentic communities. Find out how we do it.

Though the videos may be filmed in nearby countries, like Turkey, Greece, or Italy, they often incorporate traditional Kosovar dances, rhythms, and instruments. “Gajde”, a collaboration between Dhurata Dora and Albanian singer Elvana Gjata, features the traditional sheepskin bagpipe of the same name, which is used throughout the Balkans. And in “Valle Kosovare” (Kosovar Dance), by Ardian Bujupi and Shpat Kasapi, the viewer is transported to a rooftop covered in Albanian patterned carpets, where Bujupi sings to his theoretical bride:

Dit e nat
Per ty une krejt i jap
Ma ke marr ti zemren
Hajde kcejna bashk
Valle, valle kosovare
(Day and night
I give everything for you
You took my heart
Come let's dance together
The dance, Kosovar dance)

Kosovo’s music industry and Albania’s music industry have a lot of crossover, and artists frequently collaborate and release new music together. But the Kosovar music industry is more oriented towards pop, while the Albanian industry leans more towards traditional folk music. When crossing the border from Albania into Kosovo, the shift is immediately apparent, as the radio begins to play more thudding beats and Western-sounding melodies.

This difference has its roots in the region’s history. Albania’s Communist dictator, Enver Hoxha, banned Western popular music during his rule (1944-1985). On the other hand, Kosovo was once a part of the former Yugoslavia, where President Josip Broz Tito had a more open attitude towards Western influences. Albanians expelled from the Principality of Serbia settled in Kosovo in the late 19^th century, and the region was incorporated into the majority-Serb Kingdom of Yugoslavia after World War I. In the following years, Kosovo went back and forth between Albanian and Yugoslav control, before eventually becoming an autonomous region within Yugoslavia and declaring independence after the country’s breakup.

A visit to the Republic of Kosovo will quickly reveal that the colorful digital world of Kosovo pop music videos has little to do with the actual place. For the most part, the Communist-era architecture of Pristina, the country’s capital, is absent from the screen (“Kuku” by Butrint Imeri, which features aerial shots taken from the rooftop of the Grand Hotel Pristina, is one notable exception).

Overall, Kosovo pop’s influence extends far beyond the country’s physical borders. Many Kosovar Albanian artists live permanently abroad in Western Europe or elsewhere, and distribute their music globally through YouTube.

Since Kosovo is only fully recognized by about half the world’s countries, and conflicts between the ethnic Albanian majority and the Serb minority in northern Kosovo regularly flare up, this is particularly significant. Relations with neighboring Serbia remain tense—Serbia claims Kosovo as part of its territory, and did not recognize the country’s declaration of independence in 2008. 

Ultimately, Kosovo’s Albanian-language pop music industry is about more than just making party music. It serves as a nation-building tool for Kosovo, and a rallying point for the Albanian diaspora. 

Ethnic Albanian communities exist in dozens of countries around the world, including Italy, Switzerland, and the United States. As Albanian-language music becomes more popular, these communities gain more visibility and leverage on the world stage.

As Pristina-born artist Capital T declares in the song “Fustani” (Dress), a collaboration with Elvana Gjata, in which Gjata wears no fewer than five dresses:

We talk about money, we talk about fame, we talk about success
But at the end of the day
We got something much bigger
We Albanians

The Dirt: Pop is power.