Shkodra Elektronike - A way to remember

Colleagues, and loved ones who’ve reviewed the previous pieces have accused the author of excessive negativity. The author mildly agrees and, due to the people-pleasing tendency of his Albanian upbringing, will attempt a more positive tone.

Shkodra Elektronike (Sh/E) is a musical duo whose artistic endeavors are so close to the author’s heart. Their song “Zjerm” (“Fire”), Albania’s 2025 Eurovision entry, is but a sample of their rich library of reverberating soundscapes, gripping vocals, and culturally insightful rhythms that would challenge even the most Jungian of composers—if such ever existed. The duo’s brilliance lies in their complementary energies. Beatrice’s powerful femininity, assertive presence, and choreographic prowess are spellbinding. Kol’s sometimes menacing keyboard work provides the perfect sonic backbone. His unabashed groovy confidence and imposing agility with the keyboard station lays down the canvas for Beatrice’s voice to fill and transcend, elevating their music beyond categorization.

This piece is not about the boring debate on how the modern reproduction of folklore ensures survival, referred to by some as enrichment, and by others as tasteless or kitsch. I would argue that if reinterpreting is kitsch, then refusing it is such a banal stance to take. You’re not a Kundera character, you live in a society. Traditions should at some point pass through the lens of “cool” to deter death. These songs were once the ultimate means of expression, they were timely before they were timeless and we should not rob them of the opportunity to savor the soul of the present. Admittedly, this insight calls for a nod to the ending of “The File on H.” by the Albanian writer who never won a Nobel: Kadare.

I mostly say this because Shkodra Elektronike is not your average Greek or Slavic pop group that repurposes “turbo-folk” for the young generation or whatever the Albanians who throw roses at singers are called (I don’t care). My journey with SH/E began through “Kur Perendon Dielli” (When the Sun Sets), a song at the cross-section of Albania’s complicated relationship with itself—its lyrics suffering the interventions of socialist realism and modern apathy. The original lyrics also happen to be the first thing I ever learned to read as a toddler, my first foray into civilization, my bridge to the rest of humanity and, evidently, to Sh/E. They weave all the lyrical versions in their rendition. The resulting composition honors every version without judgment, capturing the song’s ode to the emotional erasure of realism and the bittersweet pull of nostalgia that follows abandonment. Their arrangement embraces these contradictions, making the broken vessel larger than the sum of its pieces.

Similar to Bob Dylan, who unlike Kadare actually won a Nobel, they pass the artistic high bar of difficult-to-perform folk music in exchange for artistic freedom thereafter. If American folk music has a house of the rising sun to mourn for the unfulfilled life, the Albanians have the peaks where the sun sets to make way for the unrequited love. Like Bob Dylan, Sh/E unites folk purists and the cultural masses with one notable difference: they went electric from the start.

Perhaps most refreshingly, behind their artistic seriousness lies a genuine warmth and humor. When asked if they watched Eurovision—the very competition they would later qualify for—they simply replied with “Not really”. This stands out in an industry where being fake is the norm. Even I would have awkwardly recollected watching Lena’s “Satellite” on my friend’s mother’s phone in middle school. Sh/E are cultural alchemists transforming tradition into something that gleams with contemporary relevance, while also putting out original work. They show us that remembering where we come from means carrying it forward, live and electric.

This blog post explores how to use music to remember wha truly matters.