Author: Sandi Sadar Šoba
Artist: Kvinton
Label: Subkulturni azil
Released: 2008
Runtime: 42:01
Rating: 4.5/5
I deliberately snubbed Slovenian blues for a long time, because after a few servings of homegrown rhyme-mongering I was bummed out, disappointed and stuffed with recipes borrowed from across the pond, where that kind of thing sounds incomparably more convincing. Still, the tooth of time has clearly gnawed at my once geopolitically exclusionary taste too, and compared to my younger years, Slovenian releases now spin on my player kitschy-often, though they have to be damn good before I give them a second go. And part of that army are the Drava Valley poets of dive-bar blues and folk-smoked rock. My first brush with the out-of-the-ordinary calibers going by the name Kvinton came at the annual celebration of chansons conducted by Vita Mavrič. La Vie En Rose was the cue that got the minimalistically designed little disc Razirklinga such a warm welcome, and it’s the reason I can hand you the cue today to dive into pools of raspy, substance-packed words in our own language.
At the turn of the millennium, the Ptuj nonconformists set off to hunt for luck with Lovci sreče, and Razirklinga, despite eight years of maturing and tinkering, is only the result of their second trip to the studio, where they let all their tensions out and painted a fresh palette of stories about bizarre overlooked souls you can easily miss in the smoky corners of dive bars. Besides socially tinged social ballads, there’s plenty of room for quality tavern blues and Slovenized spoken-word poetry in all its beautiful, full-bodied meaning. Despite the name association with the cheesy Kingstons, Kvinton are a band I fell for at first listen, I admit, and the reason was good, honest music. The record Razirklinga kicks off with a blues standard called Mornarjev blues. Love and a tale of lost, slightly washed-out and worn-out flesh, which has stepped aside from habit and greedy longing, are themes with which a seasoned rhymester weaves a standard sketch not meant for your ears and eyes. Kvinton go about the job with restraint and a sense of aesthetics. Beneath the hat of singer Marjan Bone’s raspy voice hide tastefully placed guitars, which in the hands of Marjan Bračko and Boštjan Koren sing suitably melancholic, but not heart-wrenchingly syrupy or needlessly cheesy. Add Goran Podgorelec’s double bass and Robert Belšak’s drums, solid enough and then some, and the whole thing breathes from the very start with the held breath of self-sufficient lungs that don’t need a gram of extra decoration. You won’t hear alternative or punk, nor any of the other primordial rebel templates, yet the whole record is packed with quality balls.
Razirklinga Štef is a tale about a bizarre character in whom all those spine-owners born at the wrong time in the wrong quadrant of the universe can recognize themselves, people who kept their backbone and consistently pissed into the wind. The sexy blues standard thus carries on at the highest level, and Kvinton weave the story together with quality music, which doesn’t lack bluesy guitar solos, rhythmic foot-tapping and the by now completely indispensable raspy vocal patina. The words flow like greased lightning, the rhymes aren’t forced or overwrought, and they don’t feed the prejudice that lyrics in Slovenian inevitably sound wretched and contrived. The quality bar has to be kept up, and with the song Led it doesn’t drop! The misty surroundings of the autumnal Drava, now shackled by winter, are the backdrop against which the story of fateful delusions, love and drunken sorrow carries on in a recognizable and necessary way. Expressiveness is a synonym for the band’s sound and verbal richness, while the central, much-loved expression of seeming surrender to convention is merely a tool for subtly adapting to the general taste, which Kvinton unwittingly infect and reshape in a positive direction. The Orlek-style touch of the song Vedno k tebi grem comes solely from the addition of the accordion, which isn’t soulless Oberkrainer fare but puts the dot on the i of the emotional lyricism. The combination is so natural in its own unusual way that, with the beats of this lively sonic picture, even the most stubborn doubter and enemy of all homegrown radio nonsense can easily be rocked into a dance.
https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Ekv3yGlrx2U
Pravljica marks the halfway point, and with a tango guitar and accordion the band’s added dimension begins to show. There’s enough grit that the gentlemen easily dodge all unfair judgments and pigeonholing. Under the eroticism of the sound and the melancholy images of lost love, plenty of drops of joy, merrymaking, escapism and escapes from sadness get woven onto the stage, but you won’t find any pathos in this heartfelt blend. Kvinton are men tempered by experience, and only after that come the Kvinton up front, as well as the musicians. Ti si mi is, in that masculine way, the tender outpourings of vulnerability from a lonely bloke. The night has its power, and Kvinton are its soulful immortalizers. The melody has a bit of an Irish soul to it, and when I compare it with everything homegrown, I don’t really hear many links to Slovenian creations. And that’s enough for me to surrender easily to every beat and every verse and forget about the origin of the music. All that matters is heart, and this honest outpouring of a record, Razirklinga, doesn’t lack it. Not even in the livelier tempo of the punchy Taxi. The well-timed injection of vitality is downright invigorating and so effective that after the shrieks of guitars, the pounding of drums and the echo of accordions, you can more easily get on board with the idea and the central thread of the musical vignette Samo enkrat se ljubi. The picture of a dive bar from the 1920s or 1930s, heavy clouds of smoke and wine stains on the tables, where images of true love return in waves. Kvinton are masters of modern-day chanson-making, and this time the old-timey, vintage feel of the music is not something to file under flaws. After Guslova podoknica, the reserved ladies shed a tear, and the blokes can only tell themselves: »If only I had such a wealth of words, I’d say things about love more often myself …«. And by the end, the day shows. For the finale, Kvinton put the song Slab dan, but this time the day is anything but bad, since between your two ears a whole symphony of beautiful, good music has unfolded, one that slips away from every label. Kvinton have dedicated the ending to hungover wake-ups into a new day, after we’ve fled sadness and gravity-burdened everyday life. Worries weigh us all down and drag us to the ground, but the Ptuj bluesmen, New Orleans style, manage to turn a negative state into one more story, after which they can quite justifiably fill their glasses and toast another successfully completed leg of the journey.
Kvinton really aren’t the prettiest or most photogenic representatives of our stage army, but they’ve got the character, patina and juiciness that I miss so damn much from our local musicians. That was the reason I kept running away from homegrown creations so stubbornly, but not anymore, I promise! Razirklinga is without question a very full, successful and substance-rich second leg, and Kvinton deserve a gold medal for it. Despite the associations with old tomcats of the past, who can now only smile from within the faded frames of black-and-white photographs, the little disc is worth many listens and a surrender to the whisper of a heart perhaps heard for the first time. If you’ve been deliberately skipping over the bitter fandango of your own thoughts and drowning the pain in the noise of post-industrial rush, Kvinton are giving you a choice this time, and this emergency exit is worth every minute of your time. To close, I’d borrow the words of a fellow critic, which I agree with: Razirklinga can be anything – fiery, tickling, merry, but not party-jolly, and despite the melancholy, Kvinton are miles away from pathos. And that, my dears, is a good cue for a future that I, at least, will gladly listen to in discographic terms!
Lineup
Goran Podgorelec – double bass
Robert Belšak – drums
Igor Mešič – guitar
Marjan Bone – accordion, vocals
Dejan Bračko – acoustic guitar, violin
Boštjan Koren – guitar, tamburica
Guest musicians:
Tina Muraus – violin on tracks #9, #8 and #6
Jernej Senegačnik – trumpet on track #10
Production
Sebastijan Duh
Tracklist
- Mornarjev blues
- Razirklinga Štef
- Led
- Vedno k tebi grem
- Pravljica
- Ti si mi
- Taxi
- Samo enkrat se ljubi
- Guslova podoknica
- Slab dan
