Lenhart Tapes is a one-man cassette tape manipulator, best known for his striking and unforgettable live performances. Yes, Walkmans are his musical instruments, and he creates live mixes of selected material from his cassette collection, layering them over rhythmic loops.
Where are you right now?
I’m in Belgrade.
How have you been?
We’ve been attending the protests. We have hope in our students.
Is the cultural scene involved in any way?
Yes. Almost all the universities are involved, and I don’t know many cultural spheres that are not connected in some way. Across the board, there’s a feeling of solidarity that hasn’t been here before.
You come from a Slovak minority area in Vojvodina, northern Serbia. Can you talk about your background, particularly in terms of multi-lingual and multi-ethnic aspects, and how you got into music?
It goes a little bit further back into history than Serbia. I grew up in the former Yugoslavia as part of the Slovak minority living there, and those are my earliest memories. Today, there are around 30,000 Slovaks living in Serbia. I come from a small community that managed to preserve its cultural heritage brought from Slovakia when our ancestors arrived in this area 250 years ago. This heritage has had a big influence on me—Slovak was my mother tongue, and the music of Slovaks living in Yugoslavia at the time shaped my experience of music. I’m still researching these traditions for inspiration.
Yugoslavia had a pretty vibrant alternative scene in the 70s and 80s. Has this had an influence on you?
Of course. I must add that the main difference between Yugoslavia and Serbia is that Yugoslavia was much larger, with many more small communities living within one big country. Back then, we were all Yugoslavians first—and proud to be so. But with the rise of nationalism in the 90s, everybody was trying to figure out where they belonged. That’s the root of the main problem today, a kind of nationalist politics reminiscent of the 90s that still persists among many small communities across the Balkans. But this issue is very emotional for me at this moment, given what’s happening in our country right now.
That being said, I’m very proud of the heritage of the Yugoslav underground scene—not just in music, but also in the broader impact of Yugoslavian art, extending all the way from the 1960s. It shaped me more than my native heritage, which I didn’t like so much when I was a kid. All the traditions and customs. I was much more into rebellious stuff. When you’re young, you’re not really interested in traditions. We were more into movements coming from the bigger cities in Yugoslavia. Every major city in Yugoslavia had its own trademark scene, so to speak. We knew which kind of bands came from Zagreb, Belgrade, Ljubljana, or Skopje. In a way, you could compare it to the American scene, where you can recognise the sounds coming from Boston or California. For instance, in Macedonia, they had this dark, electronic, esoteric music scene—experimental stuff mixed with Byzantine melodies. Belgrade was heavily influenced by the New Wave, Zagreb had punk, Ljubljana was known for its art rock, Sarajevo had alternative folk, and so on.
In your Lenhart Tapes project, you also draw from the Balkan music scene, the forgotten tapes that you find in various flea markets and other places. It could be described as a sort of sonic archaeology project—an ethnomusical gonzo research project of sorts.
I’ve always been interested in small communities living in this region, maybe because I’m part of one myself. I’ve been interested in finding hidden stuff. A lot of these communities keep their musical traditions to themselves without sharing them widely, much like the community I come from. For instance, the Goran minority living in Kosovo or the Ruthenian minority in Vojvodina… But I’m also interested in other cultures and their musical heritages. I started this “musical archaeology” for myself first of all, and eventually, some of those melodies ended up in my music.
When you work with these sources, on tapes, you recontextualise them and create something entirely new from them.
Sometimes I sample from the original tapes, and sometimes I collaborate with vocalists, with whom I occasionally perform and record, to re-sing the material. These are singers who work with ethnic music styles and have backgrounds in academia, research or music. I like finding these juxtapositions between noise and ethnomusic. Sometimes we rearrange entire songs. When I work alone, I sample from tapes or from my sampler.
Why cassettes?
That’s basically down to my dilettantism when sampling—I don’t know how to sample from other devices. (laughs) Tapes are something that I grew up with. As a kid, I experimented with tapes by cutting them and chopping them up. I never gave up on tapes as a format and I continue to listen to music on tape recorders. Recently, I discovered that there are different types of tape recordings and machines capable of reproducing music in unconventional ways, allowing you to manipulate them a bit. This opened up new possibilities for me in terms of composition. Though I can’t really say that I’m composing music—maybe making music is a better description.
Could you talk about how you work with these tapes in terms of making music or performing?
There are a few methods that I use. Some of them are ready-made objects, and there’s a lot of spoken word material that I use too. Others I prepare on my computer, recording them in a way that I know allows for later manipulation.
Recently, I’ve been using old tape machines—something between musical cassette players and devices that are not intended for commercial use. They were originally designed for producing audio books for blind people. I managed to find some of these old machines, which are no longer used because everything is digital now. I’ve found a bunch of them at flea markets and I’m still collecting them. These are my musical instruments, which I use rhythmically—stopping, speeding up and slowing down.
You also perform live with a vocalist.
Yes, I use a digital sampler as well, and I perform live with guests. The Lenhart Tapes project is occasionally a duo or trio, especially during live performances.
You have also been part of other musical projects and bands.
Yes. Usually experimental noise rock music. That’s my musical background. I come from loud music. It’s in my blood.
With Lenhart Tapes you’re also part of the world/global music scene, performing at related events. Could you talk about the two musical worlds you’ve been part of?
It actually came as a surprise to me, as it was never my intention to become part of the global music scene. I appreciate it and listen to a lot of artists who are categorised as such, but I wasn’t aiming to become part of it. I never studied music, nor was I an exceptional musician. I’m more of a music lover.
Why do you think you have been placed in the global music scene? Is it because of all the various tapes and samples you use?
I didn’t expect the world music scene to embrace what I do because it’s full of dirty noise. I even sample industrial machines, for instance. It’s just a sound, an element to build music with. I’ve always felt very comfortable in the noise music category because it’s my home ground. In the world/global music sphere, I feel more like a guest.
What are you mostly occupied with right now?
I’m working on new stuff. I’ve always liked experimental music; it inspires me the most. I want to go deeper and deeper into it. I want to surprise myself.
I remember back in the day when we first met, you were working as a cultural journalist. Is that still your job?
I still work in media, but now as a video editor.
How’s the music scene in Belgrade right now?
It’s very vivid. It reminds me of the days when I was an active part of the scene. Now I’m mostly doing studio stuff and only occasionally playing live. The scene is very lively in so many ways. There’s been a revival of the good old punk rock and hardcore music scenes; the experimental stuff never really went away. I find the scene very inspiring, even though the times are almost as hard as in the 90s. When you look back at the 90s, when the times were the hardest, paradoxically, these were some of the best years for music in Serbia. Music served as some sort of escape from reality.
Do you have hope for a better future?
I have hope for a better future—that’s why I’m still in Serbia. That said, I’m not entirely sure anymore, I’m still processing what’s been happening recently in the country. But I do have hope in the youth here.
Interview Lucia Udvardyova
Photo Aleksa Savulov