Laughter Reigns, War Memories Fade...

From the Boston Globe:

The first 24 hours had passed in a blur of boiled cabbage and too-short sleep, and it was already Friday night, the heart of the Balkans' largest brass band festival, and the trumpets and tubas owned the place.

Roving orchestras eight, nine, and 10 members strong took to stages, wandered streets, and crowded around tables in makeshift restaurants. Horns blared from speakers, sometimes with a slow, sad bellow, more often so fierce and fast that passersby were thrown from one rhythm to the next. Always, the trumpet rose above, a sound pure and addictive, best described by a musician who said, "I blow my soul in my trumpet, and the trumpet plays itself."

This is a great story! Read the whole thing...