Quality “Canadian Indie Rock” Rounds Out Trnfest’s Farewell Wake (2013)

Arhiv Arhiv Last updated 11 June 2026

Venue: KUD France Prešeren, Ljubljana, Slovenia
Concert date: 08/24/2013
Attendance: 200 – 300
Ticket price: free admission

I’m always careful with indie rock, because that sea of names is full of bluffers, charlatans and lukewarm peddlers of not exactly earth-shattering sounds. When it comes to our Alpine corner of the world, amid all the hipster experiments with no real substance, the urge to dig deeper so often switches itself off prematurely, all on its own. Yet one band slipped out of that self-destruct recipe, at least within my spectral grasp of this kind of music, and did it more than successfully. Until recently it was just a one-man project, but one that knows how to look beyond the borders of our too-narrow, cramped homeland. I’m talking, of course, about the Ljubljana (more precisely, central Slovenia) indie sensation The Toronto Drug Bust. The first nudge to dig in came from my astral half, my lady of the heart, who, after initiating me into the world of the excellent Moonlight Sky, also introduced me to the talented, versatile young guy Izak Košir. He was also the first singer of Moonlight Sky, and since I know that those guys bet only on quality and never on half-measures, I knew that digging into the 2010 record Enfant Terrible would be anything but a waste of time. The empirical, experimental listening session paid off, but I missed something more in the band – a palette of quality members who could reflect more than the ambitions and the need to prove oneself of just one person. Then recently came the news that kicked off the continuation I’d been hoping for: The Toronto Drug Bust are now a proper full-blooded band, and one man’s dream has become the dream and the chance to expand the musical fan, this time through the collective consciousness of five talented young people. Their shows abroad have apparently made more noise than their strolls across home stages, and whether the praise is really deserved, I decided to check with my own ears at this year’s Trnfest, supposedly really, truly the last one this time.

I headed to KUD France Prešern despite leaden gray clouds that promised a depressing evening crowned with a delivery of rain. I deliberately ignored the quiet threats of the weather and took over the front rows in front of the stage, where retro drums and retro amps were waiting, and, in the company of a retro-minded young crowd, I waited for this year’s Trnfest concert revelation. A little before nine, the smiling bearer of Fender’s signature sound, Vid Polončič Ruparčič, steps onto the stage, slings on his Telecaster and plants himself in front of the speaker of his Fender Twin Reverb. On the other side he’s joined by the long-haired Stratocaster lover, combining them with Marshall tubes, Tamir Gostiša. Next to him steps Nejc Kržič aka Nietzsche, with a pink Jazz bass slung over his shoulder, while Dorian Granda settles in behind the silver drum kit. Last to take the stage is the short singer with the instantly recognizable voice, Izak Košir. »Trnfest – supposedly the last time? Too bad! Let’s get started!« was the send-off for a leap into the unknown. The opening salvo is Kids, originally written by the somewhat more recent bearers of the psychedelic switch-off, the Americans MGMT. From the very first chord of the two dance-loaded indie rock guitars, The Toronto Drug Bust sound full and confident, as if they’d written that catchy hit about growing up and youthful fears themselves. The young singer’s half-closed eyes show that there are no reserves and there won’t be any, and with the balanced dance of all the elements, the first part of the rumors is confirmed: these guys really are committed to total quality and to a juicy playing of what might at first glance seem like stereotypical elements, which in the hands of this Slovenian squad turn out to be anything but charlatan or silly. The dancing in the front lines and the pretty girls under twenty drew closer to the stage even the skeptics, who, decked out in black shirts of more robust bands, decided to see what was so magnetic about what was happening up there.

Continuing with their own pair of chords and a dash of magic, with the song Gimme Your Love, the young quintet goes on with a bolder mix of Iggy Pop, the White Stripes and the Stones in one package. The love for the old-school bearers of the dirtier British wave of bluesy rock meter, for the old-timers with a pedigree of excessive, brazen beauty, simplicity and pure-blooded rock, for the Rolling Stones, radiates from every chord, and from the band’s very name too, which evokes the more-than-30-year-old story of the arrest of rock’s incorrigible enfant terrible Keith Richards in Toronto over »an absurdly heavy 22 grams of heroin«. Young Izak’s charismatic bearing shows that the kid knows why he’s on stage and also knows how to serve things up – at least as far as confident singing and stage presence go. The on-stage flirting with the mic is accompanied by jumps, sensually raised legs and the self-confidence of all the members of a well-rehearsed band. I was a bit less impressed by the maybe overly drawn-out addresses to the crowd with the same questions asked over and over, like: »You guys doing good? Was that good? Trnfest is supposedly the last one this year, right?«. »Talk less, play more!« I chant in my head, while eagerly awaiting what comes next. The old-fashioned, poppy Rated B1 sows a new seed of positivity in the crowd, and Košir’s vocals, which are at moments too weak, are nicely complemented by the high falsetto of the mischievous Vid, who was clearly enjoying the game of stage roles. I missed a bit more looseness and fun on the right side of the stage, where the slightly tense Nietzsche and Tamir, at first glance rather reserved, measured out those few feet of stage in very puritan fashion. Make no mistake, though, that lack of movement was by no means felt in the sound that dominated the neighborhood around the magical Trnovo church. The sharp version of the Arctic Monkeys hit Teddy Picker proves that the young Ljubljana band’s repertoire holds something more than a set of worn-out hits and records that serve only to prove your orthodox alignment with the generally accepted and praised currents from Radio Express or similar silos of well-composted, honey-tongued music, smeared all over Facebook, for those moments when you just need some ointment. There’s quite a lot of cynicism under the surface, and also more potent musicality than you’re usually used to from similar musicians. Still, throughout the whole show I couldn’t shake the feeling that the otherwise polished stage performance has more contrivance, more studied movements and choreographed strolls across the stage than looseness and naturalness, which would have made the experience even more authentic. Then comes quite a hefty chunk, in fact the lion’s share, of covers, where the musical meat does work. After the arctic-chilled pop came a walk down the Stones’ main street. Instead of the rougher voice that Mick delivers so mightily on the album Exile On Main Street, Izak’s interpretation of Ventilator Blues is punchy but softer and, sadly, less daring than the original. Still, under the simple, well-polished surface stripped of all unnecessary frills, you can still feel the real soul of concrete rock rebelliousness, and beyond the lively, vital and dynamic rhythmic heart of the music, all the standards of quality are actually met, the kind that make your foot start tapping on its own, and before long the unconscious dance of your whole body easily joins in. Next came a somewhat more extensive stretch of homegrown, authentic Toronto Drug Bust tunes, opened by the balladic, melancholy Emerald Green, which, with a resonant, predictable but no less likable outline, dwells on the theme of unhappy teenage love, and with the beautiful cry of both juicy guitars gains quite a bit of depth and a whiff of Jack Black, no, Jack White of the exceptional White Stripes. After a short calming interlude comes a rougher, amped-up version of the song Cigar Superstar, with which TDB prove that in these few years they’ve grown into a very solid, organically connected band, made up of five separate individuals with one central nervous system, one mind and one heart. After the excursion into almost Neil Young waters comes clear proof that they have a few more potent seeds up their sleeve. The Best Of Me is a damn faithful borrowing of chords from Big Foot Mama and their song Nova pravila, I think at first, but despite all the associations, the whole thing, a somewhat restrained burst of hormones and essential indie rock, is executed correctly. I’d rather bet on the more direct, punchy extracts like the compact If You Were Mine, which you literally fall in love with on first listen, because in its simplified spell promising total physicality there’s just the right dose of darkness and ominous vagueness, while waves of well-conceived distorted waves, suspense and above-average quality keep pouring into your ears. The guys then top off the quality sonic collage with a novelty that, I hope, promises a new album. Doggy Style is a potent conglomerate of old-school beauty and an uncomplicated philosophy of surrendering to the call of the heart, and its final destination is the cherry on top of the Cream cake, a cry to touch the rainbows of love with the riffs of Sunshine Of Your Love. Plagiarism or just a well-meaning borrowing, perhaps one of the better-informed listeners will ask, the kind who also followed young Košir’s sharp written takedown of all the Alpine borrowers and plagiarists. This time I consciously pass on that and listen instead to the well-crafted cover of Franz Ferdinand and their by now almost prehistoric 2004 hit, the punchy little number Take Me Out. The regular part of the show is then crowned by the guys with the aptly named Death Of Romance, followed, because of their premature exit from the stage, at the organizers’ wish and command, by two penalty extensions, and before that a group greeting and a birthday song from the crowd for the young singer, who was celebrating his birthday on the very day of the Trnfest gig. After a humorous interlude with mock threats against young Vid, who revealed to the crowd the secret of Izak’s aging and the clock of life moving a year forward, the music picked up again. First, a solid version of Tighten Up, which The Black Keys were the first to commit, wafts out of the speakers. After a call and proof of a really big urge to gravitate back toward love, the invasive indie rock train of carefree pleasure and heartfelt feeling, worked completely under your skin, pulls to a stop with a dedication to all the fops, dandies and lovers of beauty, with the song The Dandy Song.

A nicely rounded whole of dynamic twists and a polished indie rock show absolutely deserves wholehearted praise. For the show I saw this time they deserve a sincere round of applause and praise. Bravo, guys! You surpassed my high expectations and convinced me that miracles are possible in Slovenian indie rock waters too. The band works, at least sonically, as a cohesive and well-knit whole, and the organic harmony of the collective will, I hope, soon be heard encapsulated in some quality follow-up and upgrade to the studio debut. Toronto Drug Bust are a quality export product, since with their not-at-all-Slovenian pronunciation of Anglo-Saxon, pro-American, pleasure-loving lyrics they promise that the Slovenian wave of indie enchantment will splash, with a slight delay, across the borders of our too-narrow and overly hermetically sealed homeland. The music is quality, but the stage show of gymnastics, leg lifts and walks from left to right, including the contrived climbing on the speaker boxes, calls for a bit less worrying about appearances and actually giving in to the more spontaneous impulses that the music itself can trigger in a person (or not). The frontman’s dialogue with the crowd needs polishing too, since there was quite a lot of interaction, but it was naive and out of tune with the musical matter. I’d happily swap that superficial feeling out of the crowd’s pulse for a pinch more mystery, the kind that drew people like a magnet to names like the White Stripes and similar quality eccentrics of modern, quality rock. Less is more, and I definitely hope the guys stay on the good path of quality music from here on out. You can never have too much of that.