SHIP Festival finds Croatia breaking down borders in music

It is only right that the inaugural year of SHIP Festival is tied to a structure that so deeply defines their identity. While Šibenik’s tangle of winding streets, hidden monastic gardens and ornate churches echo its Venetian past and Catholic character, St. Michael’s Fortress stands impervious to influence. Surviving failed Ottoman sieges, and even under Socialist Federal Republic of Yugoslavia, it is testament to a Croatia’s abiding spirit.

There is a welcome irony to be found in the fact that a fortress built to defend Šibenik is the centrepiece of a festival with an ambition to invite the world to its doorstep. SHIP Festival is a three-day celebration of Croatian and European music by night; a conference that sprawls across the city by day. With a smorgasbord of prominent local and international speakers, their conversations aim to share resources and wisdom in a notoriously gate-kept industry.

Central to the mission of SHIP Festival is dispelling tired preconceptions of what European music is capable of, underlining that it is far more than a passing novelty or an easily-disregarded niche. Its line up froths with talent across a dazzling spectrum of sounds from Croatian jazz-rock to Macedonian synthwave and Serbian pop music – and that’s only the beginning.

Though there are a handful of venues scattered further than St. Michael’s Fortress including Tunel, the hive of electronic sounds in the small hours that can be reached by a short drive from the Old Town, and Azimut which boasts a music hall and a beautiful green space which overlooks the waterfront, the medieval fortress is undoubtedly the heart of SHIP. Above, on the ‘Deck’, is the outdoor amphitheatre which, before sunset, offers incredible views of the Šibenik archipelago that lies below. Set times alternate between the ‘Deck’ and the ‘Hull’ beneath: its smaller, underground twin. Prepare to be match fit, however: the ascent to reach the fortress through a labyrinth of centuries-old stairways and alleys is punishing in the summer heat. Stage-hopping to catch the artists performing on ground-level venues is a tall order, even for those with an appetite for a hike.

Friday night on the Deck welcomes Austrian duo Aze who weave soft-dying RnB with pop’s nocturnal side. Bathed in red light, they whirl slowly around the stage as if they were dreaming in their bedrooms – deeply interior and sensual at once. They translate the private agony of impulsively checking your phone on “Call Me Back” and the conflicts that tie your heart in knots: “I could leave you alone / But what do I do on my own?”

What lurks in the underbelly of the Hull, however, is 52 Hertz Whale. The Bratislava post-punk band is one of the most fascinating – and disturbing – propositions the festival has to offer. Named after “the loneliest whale in the world”, a mammal that communicates on its own, uniquely lonely frequency floating through the blue. Frontman Oceans Burning, with their Kool-Aid red hair and lipstick in an urgent scrawl across their face, tears and their clothes and erratically paces across the stage. they lurch against the barrier like a caged animal, as if it stands to protect you from them rather than the other way around. Burning breaches the divide, prowling around the audience as some meet their blood-shot eyes and others shrink away from it. It’s a cold-sweat, vaudevillian performance – furious, at turns, and then touched with a certain melancholia. It’s an alchemy that only the most interesting post-punk bands seem to understand and transmit.

The days are packed with music conferences between the waterfront art space House of Arsen and the cosy indoor area of Azimut. While there are conversations which promote an in-depth look under the hood of the music industry including of ‘How to Book A DIY Tour’ and the significance of music export in Europe, there are also far more candid discussions around stress management and protecting your mental health in a line of work with a high emotional toll.

The Old Town itself is a small, tightly contained world – as if you’ve stepped into a fairy circle. The seafood is the first thing the locals recommend you try, with their Bronzin’s squid ink risotto being top of the list. Seafront seating in bars and restaurants is a given in Šibenik, and their obvious positioning isn’t an indicator of compromised quality in quite the same way that the British coast is jammed with competing tourist traps. There is still a somewhat unspoiled magic to everything which you can only hope it holds onto despite the wider world cottoning on to its promise.

But it’s worth wandering off the beaten track and exploring beyond the Old Town’s Venetian wonders. If you follow the coastline in the opposite direction, it unfurls another dimension to the city’s character: there is far more hard lines and angular concrete, redolent of its time belonging to Tito’s Yugoslavia. Tucked down an unassuming street is Buffet Šimun, an old-fashioned restaurant crammed with locals who come for their well-priced Slavic comfort food. It feels like a long-gone Šibenik of blue-collar workers with its menu crammed with local specialities that feel like they’re straight from a majka’s kitchen. Better still, if you catch a waiter in a good mood, they bring you a shot of Rakija, a strong fruit brandy that is one of the most popular alcoholic drinks in Croatia.

Saturday night continues the spirit of tradition (with a twist) in the form of Estonian neo-folk duo Puuluup. Armed with a talharpa, a four-stringed bowed lyre brought by Swedes to Estonia in the 10th century, and loopers to stack and build sounds right in front of your eyes, the pair transform Estonian folk tunes to newfound spirit and urgency. It’s a heady concoction of their own musical memories, improvisation and irreverent humour that has everyone charmed and grinning. Their playful approach to Estonian tradition extends to dance, too: they teach everyone the moves and before you know it, Marko Veisson is linking arms with the audience in a snaking chain that grows and grows. It’s brilliant and utterly charming: a musical odyssey, a dance class and stand-up comedy act all in one.

It's interesting that SHIP Festival hosts a conversation with James Minor, the Head of SXSW – in many ways, the festival’s aspirational older sibling. In recalling SXSW’s beginnings built on the intention of decentralising the cultural power from New York and LA by establishing its stronghold of Texas, the parallels between the two are striking. Both are built upon the simple intention to elevate artists who deserve to be heard, to refuse to fight for the keys to the clubhouse and start one of their own. One is a globally treasured cultural event and discovery platform that is an essential date in the music industry calendar – the other, in its first year, holds all the promise of rivalling it.