Loading ...The Tose Proeski Interview
by Dalibor Dimovski, copyright 2007, all rights reserved
*This interview was originally written in October, 2003
September 29, 2003 Monday NightI pull into the parking lot of Tuscani Grill. The phone call I received about 15 minutes earlier was from Tony Ancevski, a friend of mine advising me to meet them there. I’d been falling asleep on the couch after a long day of “obertime”.Upon opening the door to the restaurant, I see a long table filled with a unique cast of characters… including Tose. I make the way around the table, giving kisses on the cheeks of the women, and handshakes to the men. I find a seat next to Alex (a buddy of mine from one of the local bands) and immediately order a Long Island. The half of the table that I am sitting at contains the band for the US leg of the Tose Proeski concert tour. The Blue Funk Individuals are an eclectic rock group, and as good drinkers as anybody else from the Balkans.
I didn’t get much of a chance to talk to Tose, but did manage to watch as our waiter (an avid fan) pulled Tose aside and proceeded to thank him for great music and what he had done for the Balkans. I spent most of my time introducing myself and playing buddy-buddy with the management and organizers.
The next morning, Tose and his entourage (4 in total… the actual band stayed in Indiana) were to fly out to New York from Detroit Metro Airport, so they needed to hit the hay and get some rest. Tony and I drove them to a hotel off of M59 and checked them in. We convinced the manager of the establishment that this was a huge pop star whom was staying in the hotel, so he wanted to hear some of his music. We happened to have a copy of “Nikada” on cd and played it on the hotel’s overhead speakers… They seemed to really dig the music, before finally asking: “Uhh, what language is this?” Macedonian.
Tose was quiet the entire night, recovering from a massive concert in Toronto the evening before. The extent of his speaking was a loud “Woof” he barked to his manager in the elevator when she touched his guitar case.
Friday Morning, October 3rd
9 AM.
I’ve managed to “call in sick” today at work so that I could have the privilege of picking up Tose from the airport. We stand in the new Macnamara Terminal, scouting the gates for signs of a pop star. I catch a glimpse out of the corner of my eye of such a person.Tose seems tired, no doubt from his early flight. We make our way to our minivan, load up, and take off for the hotel. Along the way, the entire group is quiet and tired, so I keep the music selection to the “Easy Listening” dial. Lenny Kravitz chimes on 96.3 and Tose promptly dives into singing along, stopping only to shout “What an ugly car!” as a Pontiac Aztek whizzes by.
We stop by Oakland Mall and grab some brunch (the only thing open at the time was a pizza stand). The first real interaction I have with Tose comes in the form of a joke.
“Dalibor, I have to tell you this joke!” He is tells me this in Macedonian. I’ll write in English for the time being. “This parakeet and bear are on a plane. The parakeet bangs on the seat tray in front of him. ‘Bring me some rakija!’” Tose stops to chuckle. “Stewardess, bring me some whiskey!’ The stewardess comes and yells ‘Stop banging on the tray or I’ll throw you off the plane!’ Five minutes later, the bear bangs on the table and says ‘Stewardess! Bring me some Rakija!’” Another chuckle, this time as Tose bangs on the lunch tray in front of him. “So the stewardess comes by and says ‘Stop banging on the table or I will throw you off the plane!’ Ten minutes later, both the bear and the parakeet bang on the trays. ‘Stewardess! Bring us some Rakija!’ The stewardess, pissed off, grabs the parakeet and the bear by the neck and throws them out the door of the plane to fall to their death! The bear and the parakeet start screaming until the parakeet realizes he can fly and starts flapping his wings. ‘Birdie! Birdie! Help me! I have no wings and can’t fly!’” By now, Tose is laughing so hard at his own joke that he can barely finish. “So the bird turns to the bear and says ‘You should have listened to her then!’ and flies away!!”
Tose is laughing so hard, he nearly falls back in his chair. No one else seems to find it nearly as funny, but we humor him and laugh along.
On our way out, the minivan’s hood begins to smoke. I leap out and pop the hood open. “What and impression I’m making on the star,” I think to myself. I see a shadow and turn to find Tose had stepped out to take a look as well.
“Hey,” he says pointing into the engine area. “I think something is wrong with it.” I don’t know if he’s being sarcastic or serious. The problem is a belt that had been caught up, rubbing and causing smoke. “Do want some help?” Tose asks. “Just twist it back.”
At the hotel, Tose takes his room and passes out almost instantly.
8:15 PM.
I am at the hotel, picking up Tose for his first-ever US concert that night. The concert officially began at 8PM. Tose was scheduled to go on at 9:30 or 10. Which is about the time we get to the hall. On the way there, however, Tose was more worried about the tiny little scratch on the dash of the SUV I was picking him up in - I had borrowed my brother’s X5 for the night, and Tose insisted on taking the passenger seat. He admired the design, constantly asking questions about this and that, and comparing it to the RAV4 that he currently owns. Tose is a huge fan of German cars, and has a brand new Merc M-Class waiting for him when he gets home. Yet he still insists that SUVs waste too much gas.
“You have to keep a car like this clean all the time,” he says.
“Thanks. I’ll tell my brother that.”
At the concert venue (the Macedonian Cultural Center in Sterling Heights, MI) we arrive amidst a sea of fans. Luckily, they were all inside the hall and we were sneaking in through the side. Tose is completely calm and collected.
n the waiting room, Tose is relaxed and cool, competent and curious, while at the same time asking questions about the microphones and the band’s equipment. He knows music. His demeanor is that of a teenager having fun with friends, not the hardened musical ego that so many others in the industry possess. It’s as if he’s waiting in line for a movie, not as if he is about to perform one of the most important concerts of his life.
He’s asked whether he wants anything to drink.
“No, thank you. But ask the band, they might be thirsty.” If he has an ego, it doesn’t show. He’s more worried about having everyone else loose and comfortable. In fact, he engages in a friendly wrestling match with Goran, one of his assistants. Goran is a full head taller, and wins. Tose admits his kickboxing skills need to improve.
10 PM.
The concert starts, Tose wows the crowd.
11:30 PM.
The picture shoot takes place in the back room.
Tose greets every fan as if he’s known them his entire life. Some get handshakes, others hugs. Some explain to him that they have an uncle from the same selo as his aunt’s grandmother’s gardener. He’s offered coffee at the homes of nearly all the married women that manage to sneak into the back for the shoot.
12 AM.
Tose resumes his concert, and the crowd goes bonkers.
2 AM.
After another friendly photo shoot, Tose is visibly tired. We stop by Meijer on the way home to buy some lemons (it helps his throat after a concert). I get back in the SUV and notice Tose had wiped down the instrument panel and the doors.
“See? No more fingerprints,” he says excitedly.
“Prava domakinka ke bides,” I tell him. He’ll make a fine housewife one day. The others in the truck all laugh.
“Are we taking this car tomorrow to Chicago?” he asks.
“No, my brother would die if we did,” I explain.
“Oh.” Tose seems disappointed.
Saturday, October 4th10:30 AM.
We pick up Tose, his manager, and the rest of the group in the morning. All five of us fit comfortably in my Pontiac Vibe. The others follow us in a Jeep.
Everyone is tired.
On the way there, Tose and I engage into a lengthy conversation about cars, his favorite subject. Suddenly, he grabs to the rear of the car for his jacket.
“Goran, reach in my jacket and grab the Elton John CD!” We picked up Elton John’s greatest hits CD for Tose the night before, and he couldn’t stop listening to it. He pops the CD in my changer, and selects track 11, a song titled “Blessed.” He begins to sing along.
The voice is music in itself. He may sound great in his album or in concert, but while driving to Chicago he sounded best. Perhaps it was because he was relaxed, perhaps because he wasn’t being rushed or nervous. Regardless, he sang better than I had ever heard him. It’s as if the song was written especially for him. He must have looped it for 40 or 50 minutes straight, until he finally had wore himself out. Or so I thought.
“What other CDs do you have?” he asks. I search around my armrest and find the Three Tenors, Chris Isaak, the Beatles, and U2. He pops in the Three Tenors. And goes bonkers. “I love this! Pavoratti is amazing! I am getting chills, look!” He points to his arm and sure enough he has goose bumps. “This is the opera song I sang at Ilinden!” Tose opens his mouth and joins in the deep vocals. He knows every Italian word. “Goran, grab my laptop!”
Tose is a tech junkie. If he doesn’t have his laptop open playing music or making it, he is playing with his cell phone’s camera. “Can I copy your CDs onto my laptop?” I agree, and he proceeds to pop the CDs in and record the tracks through Windows Media. “Druze, what is your cell phone number? I want to stay in contact,” he asks. We exchange numbers. He shows me all of his pictures on the camera. Mostly cars, but once in a while there is a picture of him having fun with the band or his entourage. Wrestling matches, flicking food at friends, laughing: Tose seems like a normal guy his age (22).
1 AM.
The concert is a complete success. Almost 900 people (if not more) pack the venue in Chicago. The fans here are even more obsessed than the night before, due in part to the shear large numbers. Tose acts as if each and every one is his close friend.
The photo shoot is incredible. It lasts almost two hours. Tose takes photos, hugs, and signs autographs. A couple reporters from the local media manage to get in and pummel him with questions on everything from music to politics, to America. Tose answers each one as if it was scripted. Once in a while, his gaze will stray towards the short skirt of one of the girls in line. He notices me catch him, and mouths out the word “WOW”. Well, at least we know he likes girls.
After the photo shoot, he sits back in his chair and sips a cup of orange juice. “Take a shot!” yells one of the band members.
“I think I will. It was a good night.” He downs the shot of vodka.
It was a good night indeed.
Special thanks to:
MDP
Tony Ancevski
SJ Entertainment
Final Cut Productions
