Once upon a time, in ’91, in times of total mess. It was chaos.
The miners’ crusade had just ended, the nation was disgruntled. The people had finally received the long-awaited-for salami, but the prices were skyrocketing, faster than the Ferarri team heads for the Finish line. Music-wise, the country had inherited the standardised framework of the communist rock bands and the mascarades of the musical competitions with the winners known from beforehand. Two waves of punk music have been hitting Timisoara, one in the early 80’s, the other at their end, but none of these waves had brought along a band, only devoted listeners.
We were a group of guys belonging to the second wave, who used to waste time all day at the coffee shop owned by the National Peasants’ Party, near the old Town Hall. Not that we were politically active, but because Ali, the Turk, was making a very good –and cheap- coffee. We used to gather there, trying to sort out something, anything… We managed to organize the Underground Movement in Timisoara. We were aiming high… we were optimistic… naive…
I was one of those who wanted to create a band, but I didn’t exactly knew with whom and how. There was a need for a direct band, to ’say it like it is’.
One evening, which seemed to be as void of meaning as all those I lived during that time, there came a guy (I don’t exactly remember who), letting us know –with gleaming satisfaction and with the eyes reddening at the prospective thought of alcohol- that he knew about a party where he could introduce us all. To make a long story short, I made it to the party. I entered, the usual drunken people, smoke and noise. I walked around, trying to identify some volunteers for a couple of beers and shots of votka. In one room there was a group of guys, among which a plumpy individual was philosophysing, dead drunk, something incomprehensible about anarchy and the like. I left him and continued my round, until I found a guy one step away from alcoholic comma. We decided to withdraw into the bathroom, where we sat into the empty bathtub and had been drinking till morning, with our legs dangling over the rim.
At this party, it became clear that the drunk philosopher from the other room and the bathtub alcoholic are playing some „music” in some cave. Next day I paid a visit to the cave where they were rehearsing: the drunken philosopher was creating some chainsaw sounds from a guitar (which looked suspiciously similar to a spare wheel of a Trabant car), while the bathtub drunkard was hitting some drums (allegedly stolen from somewhere), having been able to induce envy in any siouxie interested in bringing about the rain.
While watching them, I thought: „These are my kind of guys”.
This is how the first Romanian punk band came to life, which later was named HAOS (Chaos).