"Heart" as a metaphor for a generation seeking light

The song “Zjerm” by Shkodra Elektronike, representing Albania in Eurovision 2025, passed the first round and is now in the grand final of Eurovision. My opinion and, fortunately, that of many others is that “Zjerm” is a serious candidate to take a place of honor in this great European music competition. This has its own importance, but for me, this is not everything. It is one of the deepest and most courageous creations that Albania has brought to this festival. At the core of this song lies an attempt to create a possible reality – an ideal minute where the world stops suffering and man is reborn through hope, light and identity. Set among the voices of a generation that finds itself neither in the painful past, nor in the empty rhetoric of today, “Zjerm” does not speak, but lights up.

The beginning of Shkodra Elektronike’s song “Zjerm” is a first blow to the soul. In the first seconds, the characteristic rhythm of the çifteli is heard, which comes like a sudden awakening from the depths of Albanian cultural memory. The sound is warm, rhythmic, but not folkloric in the classical sense – it is recomposed in an electronic landscape that turns the çifteli from a festive instrument into an alarm instrument.

This rhythm is not for wedding dances, but neither is it a song of bravery – it is for a new beginning. It gives the song a ritualistic feel, like an ancient call that warns: be careful, here will be fire spoken. Used not as nostalgia, but as a structural element, the çiftelia in this introduction acts as a musical genetic code that returns you to your roots, while preparing you for the modern explosion that follows. It is precisely this contrast and this precise transition from old to new that makes the beginning of “Zjerm” not only powerful, but also artistically complex and significant. The çiftelia is not here to remind us of the past, but to remind us that the past still speaks.

The lines “In this minute, in this moment, no paranoia” set the tone for a world turned upside down – where there are no ambulances on the streets, where arrogance is silent, where rain does not bring boredom, but purification. This is not just a poetic utopia: it is a challenge to reality. It is a desire to stop time in a simple but perfect moment, where life takes on a human form.

This desire for peace and justice is accompanied by a silent revolt against an unbearable reality: “No soldiers, no orphans, not a bottle in the ocean” – a line that contains the pain of a generation that has seen enough flight, drowning and displacement. Even “oil smells of lilacs” is a strong poetic figure, an oxymoron that mixes pollution with the scent of flowers – a vicious reality that seeks to be healed.

Musically, the song builds a soundscape that does not follow the classic structures of ballads or festive pop, but rather moves towards a ritual form. The rhythm is tribal, shocking, while the electronics serve as a medium that gives voice to a world filled with memories, dreams, loss and the determination not to disappear. The rhythms explode as a call for freedom, while the vocals – sometimes pleading, sometimes strong – become a collective voice that seeks the light with persistence, with need.

“Zjerm” does not try to be either simply modern or simply traditional – it is a continuous transition from one to the other where the language of the song is of secondary importance. Its chorus is an anthem that automatically translates to the listener: “Keep shining, shine, shine… Zjerm.” It is an inner fire, a flame that does not burn, but illuminates from the inside out.

Beatriçe Gjergji's artistic interpretation of "Zjerm" is one of the most unique and influential elements of Albania's performance at Eurovision 2025. She does not sing the song - she embodies it. Her body is merged with the music, it is its continuation. Especially the hand movements create a special, poetic language, which facilitates the transmission of the song's message to the listener without the need for translation.

In the most emotionally charged moments, Beatrice’s hands move in the air as if they were somewhere between dancing and flying. Sometimes they rise as if to catch the light, sometimes they open as if to release the pain. There is a wild elegance to those movements – like waves that follow the inner rhythm of a fire that burns not to destroy, but to illuminate. They are not choreographed movements in the classical sense; they seem like the instincts of a soul seeking a way out – of a woman who speaks with her body what words fail to describe.

At times, her fingers tremble slightly, like invisible flames writhing in the wind. At others, her arms describe wide arcs, reminiscent of a soaring eagle or a pagan prayer rising above the stage. It is a performance that does not ask you to understand it rationally – simply to surrender to the feeling it gives you. And this feeling is fire: warm, turbulent, alive. Beatrice Gjergji, through this physical performance, brings a metaphorical fire to the stage – a visible presence of emotions that simultaneously scorch and illuminate. And in the end, when the lights go out and the music stops, her hands seem to still dance in the air – like a flame that will not be easily extinguished.

In the second part, the song gains another emotional intensity. “It falls on our tribal dances… Like seven knives that stick in your soul” – this is the poetry of a society that dances on its wounds. It is not a song to be listened to with quiet ears; it is an experience that involves you, that shakes you. A narrative of a people that lives with the “nameless people”, with those who do not appear in the chronicles, but who are the silent soul of a nation.

Kolë Laca, in his performance in “Zjerm”, is the perfect counterbalance to Beatrice’s fire – a still figure in the middle of the storm. Dressed in black, without flash, without excessive gestures, he stands like a cornerstone in the middle of the stage – silent, calm, but with a presence that cannot be ignored. He does not seek attention, but absorbs it. The black of his clothing is an aesthetic choice. It is the shadow that makes the light seem stronger, it is the ground where “Zjerm” burns.

His rigid, almost ceremonial posture creates a dramatic contrast to Beatrice's mobile energy. He does not dance, but is the very pillar on which the narrative rests. He does not sing loudly, but the words he speaks sound like a silent command, like a deep memory, like an echo of old manhood that does not need to shout to be.

Kolë Laca is like an ancient priest at a fire ritual – silent, reserved, but deeply present. While Beatriçja soars on the emotional waves of the song, Kolë stands as a body that belongs to the earth. And it is precisely this earth that keeps the fire alive. Because, after all, every fire needs something stable to ignite. And Kolë Laca is that silent grounding that gives the song “Zjerm” its greatest strength: the balance between feeling and reason, between the flame and the ground where it burns.

The symbolism of “Zjerm” is built on fire as a metaphor for passion, for identity, for life itself. The flame is the bright red of the stage, it is the blood of those who were never mentioned, it is the energy of the unknowns dancing in the soul. In the text, it becomes a bridge between the mythical past and the possible future: “Jarna ne ti toka ime… Jarna ne ti bota ime.” The land and the world merge into a single entity, where Albanian identity is not an obstacle to European belonging, but the foundation for it.

Essentially, “Zjerm” at Eurovision is not a song just for points. It is an artistic act that aims to ignite consciousness. Despite being in Albanian, it seems to be understood by everyone. This song represents better than anything else the spirit of an Albania that refuses to imitate – and finally, dares to be itself. And that is, in itself, a victory. And a great hope encompasses us, but which I am ashamed to say.