Gabi Novak’s Farewell Symphony
Jazz and Pop and Double Shot of Melancholy
Jazz and pop queen of Croatia Gabi Novak quietly and enigmatically died peacefully at 89 years old on 11 August 2025. No pyrotechnics, no fanfare – typical Gabi, with a quiet melodramatic stage left. She bequeathed decades of emotional music and a legacy of mellow sadness and left behind too a family saga worth a Netflix mini-series.
But first of all, let’s have the elephant in the room out of the way. Her book on first glance seemed to be one of those sob-filled book_ends and backslide-of-the-coffee-table-bottle-of-wine type of books. But Gabi’s wasn’t one of those tragic lives (there was a lot of tragedy, I admit); it was one of those operatic lives, with moments of brilliance and some dubious drinking habits.
And now let’s have a stroll through her whirling dervish of a life. Go get yourself a coffee (something stronger—you’re going to need it).
From Bombs to Ballads
Imagine this: 1936, Berlin. Gabi Novak is born into chaos, probably already making up her mind to weep in immaculate harmony straight off the maternity ward. Her mom is German, Elizabeth, and her dad is Croatian, Đuro, and already she’s experienced the whole multicultural thing that shouts “future artist.” It all went terribly awry at the beginning when her dad died in 1945, and as we all know, that’s code for “life’s way of letting you know it’s time to get some grit!”
Fast forward to Yugoslavia post-war where Gabi exchanged Berlin grime for Balkan sparkle. That’s where young Novak cut her teeth between smoky nightclubs and rising world influences. Vision: refined and elegant female with smoky alto voice that will transport you into trance or shake you into question of one’s very being. This was not pop – it was introspection bathed in luxuriant voice, miasmic atmosphere.
Marriages, Melodies, and the Arsen Effect
No part of her own life was in the least eventless. Her very marriage itself to composer Stipica Kalogjera lasted shorter than it does to say “discordant harmony.” Then came Arsen Dedić, lyrical mastermind and creator of melancholy classics and also perhaps a classic knack for mood swings.
Their love was the stuff of legend in folk songs. Picture Edith Piaf and Leonard Cohen sharing glasses of red wine in a café and bickering over metaphors in songs written about one another. That was Gabi and Arsen. They wrote songs so full of heartache, exuberance, and worse-than-stinging, worse-than-realistic storytelling. It was raw. It was real. It was the kind of antidote to any overly-schmaltzy love song clogging the airwaves.
Also gave birth to a son, Matija, a tuneful child of extremes and mini-me of his parents’ creative brilliance and disaster knack. Baited breath announcement: Matija’s career also unfolded as dramatic as his parents’. Deets on that trainwreck soon.
A Soundtrack of Soul
The Gabi music didn’t shout. She hummed it, screaming your name into the stillness, hoping you’d move near and listen. Critics near-unanimously labelled it “boring.” Boring, dear readerships, is an opinion modifier more commonly saved up on those of the belief that “exciting” equals some dubstep reimagining of “Twinkle, Twinkle, Little Star.”
Her voice wasn’t atmospheric. It was intellectual. If you’ve not yet heard Gabi sing, try imagining a piece of dark chocolate and a rich red wine—the former is not for everyone, but absolutely unavoidable for those on a quest for something intense and profound.
Arsen’s accompaniment supplemented her somber tones to perfection, and the two produced a sound unique unto themselves. Were there some of these pieces winking middle fingers at the critics? Indeed, there were. Adding petty to poetry was another Novak-Dedić trademark.
Of Ghosts and Kin and an Unyielding Heritage
This is where things got serious and awkward. Novak-Dedićs’ affair of love with booze muddled things up. It was not a drink, it was almost the eleventh family member. Arsen may compose a ballad of lost love one evening and cap a bottle of whiskey another evening. Gabi was not an outright teetotaler, and Matija, God forgive his tortured but brilliant imagination, actually plugged in the family template.
Matija Borges’ musical talent as well as his demons. Matija passed on at 52 in June 2025, a couple of months prior to Gabi. And seriously, how does one begin with assuming burying your sole baby? That, people, is tragedy of the cruelest sort.
Exit Stage Left
Her recent public appearance being at the funeral of Matija, a gloomy setting of pain and death. Death has such an unpleasant feeling of grand entrances doesn’t it? No bowing on the final occasion of final curtain calls afterwards. Only silence. Her death wasn’t tabloid news; it was understated, like her songs. And that understatement was suffocating. Gabi Novak never needed to dominate the charts or sell a million records. Her gift was in the lives she touched, the emotional scraps she scattered in lives she sang on and off stage, and the indelible mark she left on the history of music. The Heritage of Gabi Novak
Ved The Novak-Dedić tale is equal parts tragedy and victory. It is a record of ethereal tunes, household upheaval, and simpatico moments of brilliance. From surviving wartime Berlin to operating the jazz venues of Yugoslavia, from ballad-like, passionate love to tough, unyielding anguish, their lives are like that indie film of artistic expression that wills itself into awards but leaves you psychologically devastated for months. And yes, perhaps they did have a bent for the more powerful spirits than the will. But if that’s what it took in order to create the music they created—in order to draw forth something so fundamentally human from us—is that not part of the legacy too? Relax now, Gabi. Music is playing and somewhere on planet earth a cork has been pulled on a bottle of wine in your name.