Metamorf: New Wave Rebels in Ceaușescu’s Romania
There were plenty of bands in Timisoara in the early 80s, and there were plenty of bands that expressed discontent with the regime. But in 1979 a group of teenagers came together to form a band that would become an underground legend in Romania’s late communist era. That band was Metamorf, and while they never had official records or wide exposure, they became a voice for their city by writing songs that captured the reality, humor, and quiet rebellion of life under Ceaușescu.
Emil Biebel on Metamorf
Tibi Gajdo, the original bass player for Metamorf, told me that Metamorf means transition and change and that it also has something to do with rocks, so Metamorf was a fitting name for a rock-and-roll group with a fresh twist on the genre.
Metamorf enjoyed two iterations of band members. The founding members — Adi Popescu, Tibi Gajdo Sorin Grăjdeanu, and Bela Tar— started playing music as teenagers.
Metamorf I, circa 1979
In the early days, they couldn’t afford instruments, couldn’t rehearse at home (because of complaints and “scandals”), and had to borrow or build the instruments and amplification equipment they needed. Eventually, they found a place to practice in the Army House in Piața Libertății, which had heat, a rare luxury, since heat was rationed in most buildings in the 1980s.
Influenced by the new wave and post-punk songs they picked up from Radio Free Europe, Radio Luxembourg, and Radio Monte Carlo, they gravitated toward the sounds of The Police, Duran Duran, Madness, and Men at Work.
Metamorf I (with can drum kit)
Metamorf II
After Grindeanu and Tar left the band, bassist Dixie Krauser and guitarist Tavi Iepan joined, forming what Tibi calls “Metamorf II.” Both Krauser and Iepan were seasoned musicians, and their professionalism added a new layer of depth to the group’s sound. Drummer, Laurs Morun, also joined the band.
Metamorf II
Forty years later, Metamorf II is still fondly remembered by Timisoara’s rock fans of the 1980s, not only for their songs but also for a legendary performance: On an autumn evening in 1985, the band took the stage at the Hungarian State Theater, between Piața Libertății and Piața Victoriei, and delivered one of the most mythologized concerts of that era in Timisoara. That concert is explored in the the full-length documentary, "The Vinyl Revolution," on this website.
Tibi, playing his bass
What really made Metamorf unique wasn’t just the sound, it was also their lyrics.
Metamorf didn’t write fantasy songs or political anthems. While other Timisoara bands like Phoenix had crafted epic, symbolic, almost mythological songs, Metamorf wrote about everyday life. They sang about smoking, hitchhiking, drinking beer by the Bega River, riding the tram, or dealing with small-town fights and weird advertisements that played on Romanian television. Their songs were simple, funny, and sharply observant — and because of that, they resonated deeply with local youth.
Take their song “Autostop,” for example. On the surface, it’s a light song about hitchhiking. But underneath, it reflects a deeper reality: in 1980s Romania, gasoline was rationed. Private citizens got two gallons a month, and most people didn’t even own cars. Hitchhiking wasn’t just a quirky pastime: it was a necessity for getting to nearby towns like Arad or Lugoj. So, a seemingly innocent song actually became a subtle commentary on life under a system where even travel was a challenge.
Another song, “It’s Not a Game,” was about smoking, a daily ritual for many, but also a small act of defiance or escape.
“Aventura,” touched on a more serious issue: the forced migration of Romanians from Iași and Moldova to Timișoara. Ceaușescu didn’t like Timișoara’s multicultural identity (with its Hungarian, German, and Serbian communities) so he tried to "Romanianize" it by sending in workers from other parts of the country. Locals called the trains they came on “hunger trains” because they were full of people on the way in to town and empty on the way out. Meanwhile, Timisoarans were desperately trying to flee the country in the opposite direction.
Tavi Iepan and Mimo Obradov on why Metamorf was different
Tavi Iepan on the challenges of playing rock and roll
Tavi Iepan's first guitar: the neck was recovered from a garden and his father crafted the body in a factory.
“Uba Uba Vine Dupa”, was about the militia vans that would pick up people who didn’t have jobs, something that could land you in serious trouble. They only performed it once before being quietly warned by Timisoara rock and roll empresaria, Ionel Marchis, to drop it. Tibi remembered being told, half-jokingly, not to play it again, a sign that the authorities were always watching, even when you weren’t being overtly political.
Even their so-called “funny” songs had layers. Their song "Anti-Alcohol," written with Stefan Dando during the Metamorf 2 period, simply listed every cheap spirit sold in Romanian stores. For the chorus the band sang, “We Won’t Drink.” On the surface, it was humorous, but it also subtly mocked the culture of heavy drinking and the miserable selection of alcohol in the state-run shops.
Despite all the limitations (censorship, poverty, suspicion) Metamorf’s music spread by word of mouth and live shows. They cut their rock and roll teeth playing gigs at the PM6 Club in Casa Tineretului and Casa Studentilor in the Josefin neighborhood. Both those venues were cultural hearts of Timișoara, where kids came for music, theater, and film.
Under the guidance of Ionel Marchiș Metamorf began touring nearby towns, though even that wasn’t easy. In the early ’80s, playing a show in Jimbolia, a town on the Romanian–Yugoslav border, required a special permit, since authorities feared the band might try to flee the country. At that concert, Tibi noticed a group of kids with shaved heads in the crowd. At first he thought they were skinheads, but they were actually teenagers who had been caught trying to escape Romania and had their heads shaved in custody.
Metamorf's look also got them in trouble. Long hair and NATO-style parkas (which were rare and expensive) made them stand out. “People thought we were homosexuals or weird because of how we dressed,” Tibi said. “But we were rockers — that was the look.”
Despite their popularity, they never released a proper record. Many of their concerts were recorded by Petru Umanschi and Marchiș, but those tapes were never released. The man who had them held onto them until he passed away, and their location remains a mystery.Still, Metamorf’s impact was real. Their songs captured what it felt like to live in Timișoara in the 1980s with all its humor, frustrations, and absurdity. They weren’t trying to start a revolution. As Tibi put it: “We didn’t want philosophies or to change the economy. We just wrote songs that made people laugh — songs about riding the tram or drinking beer. That was our life.”
They played every edition of TimRock for the first six years and became a symbol of a city trying to hold on to joy and identity in a time of restriction. Eventually, like many others, the band escaped Romania, leaving behind stories, memories, and songs that spoke louder than politics ever could.
At it's heart, Metamorf was a rock and roll band that that challenged the regime in subtle and humorous ways. “Everything was against us,” Tibi said. “The system was against us. We were the West inside the East.”
Please watch the last video--it's Metamorf guitarist Tavi Iepan talking about political freedom and why we can't ever take it for granted.