Baptizing the Immortal Dildo’s Firstborn – Dead Dildo Drome (2012)

Arhiv Arhiv Last updated 11 June 2026

Author: Sandi Sadar Šoba
Photos: Jerneja Jerak

Venue: Gala Hala, Ljubljana
Concert date: November 15, 2012
Attendance: 100 – 150
Ticket price: Free entry

No, I’m not a fan of American baby showers, where a little gaggle of nosy gals crams into a room and showers the unborn tot with tiny gifts, but I am a fan of good, quality, hard-hitting music. And Dead Dildo Drome, a quintet of young guns from all corners who’ve put Kranjska Gora on the map of heavy-metal places that »happen« in Slovenia, undoubtedly know how to serve it up. They’ve proven it more than once. Let me say up front that I can’t hide my enthusiasm in this write-up, because after two and a half years of waiting something extraordinary is happening: after a long pregnancy, their firstborn, which bears the meaningful name Cowboys From Kredar’tza, is about to see the light of day. How the material sounds has already been hinted at on stage many times. The two-year evolution matters here: every time it sounded more polished, fuller, sharper and ominously enjoyable, so the question was a fair one: what is good enough for a quintet that bets only on the best?

The answers had to be sought out in practice, so our crew joined the band and the rare few brave souls who dared to defy Ljubljana’s evening chill. Thursday’s mood was somewhere between depression and recession-era suicidal, so the news that the gig was free was very welcome. Around eleven o’clock Gala Hala was already filling up with a fair few curious souls, and it was clear at first glance that there was no shortage of supporters from the old home bands (I mainly mean the members of Leaf Fat). Morricone’s phenomenal contribution to the legendary film, the western of all westerns, The Good, The Bad, The Ugly, in which the immortal Clint Eastwood shone, cut off a string of metal bouncers that had been subtly blowing out of the speakers. Now it’s on! »We are Dead Dildo Drome and we’re here to gently rape you!« is a splendid overture to what could have been a deflowering night for every up-and-coming metalhead hungry for music! Behind the drums sits the short-haired Enej Kuplenik, the guitars are strapped on by the now long-haired Damir Juretič (who not long ago was sharpening four strings in Language Of Thought Hypothesis) and the ever-bandana’d Andraž Perko a.k.a. Andy (formerly of God Scardovec), Žiga Jerič takes the bass, and last to step on stage, in a bathrobe, is Robert Šercer – Šero, once the first melodious throat of Ljubljana’s bouncers Leaf Fat. After a few bars of the drummer’s rhythmic imperative, the sounds of the first original song from the album, the phenomenal Black Mark, penetrate the Thursday night.

The band sounds tight, the rhythm work of two perfectly balanced guitars is phenomenally backed by the rhythmic foundations, and associations with Lamb Of God flash before your eyes. Šero’s direct and above all uncompromising vocals, which don’t seek safe shelter in melodic frills, make it clear that Dead Dildo Drome are a band that always puts all its aces on live brilliance, pure adrenaline and full energy. The balanced sound is more than excellent, and yet the Ljubljana crowd, apart from a few bright exceptions on the front lines, is pretty reserved. That’s frustrating and doesn’t give you good energy for the flight ahead. »Come on, Ljubljana! Come closer to the stage, we’re not Čao Portorož and we don’t stink!« was a cheeky send-off and an invitation to the lads and lasses, who stayed rooted to the spot despite the playful provocation. The guys carry on professionally all the same and serve up the second hot bun of the night, the song Opium. A high-octane combination of juicy distortion and hard-hitting rhythms, and above all outstanding vocals, confirms that the debut Cowboys From Kredar’tza promises more metal than choir-boy generics. Dead Dildo Drome slip out of every frame in their genre mixing and claim their own little corner of the universe. Shades reminiscent of the generic battalions we’ve already seen are there, sure, but the lads have plenty of their own mojo and, above all, steel balls between their legs. They dare to piss on all norms and all the expectations of the masses, and to stand up to everyone who can’t forget the past and always starts sentences with: »You’re good, but when I remember a few years back …«.

Greetings to all the fans of Bikofe and everyone who thought they’d come to the usual hipster night of ballads and limp-wristed musical mush! Instead, a more hellish tempo is on the way, though there’s still no proper mosh pit! The reason is probably that anything free gets undervalued, and Šero and company still squeezed soulful nectar out of their hearts and body pores and gave 150% of their substance. I Hail Satan or All Hail Satan is a disharmonic gem in which a hard-hitting critique of the system, the world, normative commandments and groupthink is woven behind the guttural vocals of the black-metal-minded Šero. A raised right hand and »Sieg! Heil! Satan!« salutes all the dark demons of the age in which we rot, and DDD wrap it in a veil of sweet rhythm and truly poisonously good riffs. Andy handles the rhythm parts, Daco the solos and melodic ornaments, and this juicy projectile of pure libido just gushes with potency and pure hard-sound inspiration, and above all outstanding musical know-how and an outstanding eruptive combination of all the building blocks! With his own view of things, which borders on shamanic rapture and demonic obsession or madness, Šero brings high-octane dynamics and freshness to Slovenian stages, and yet the Slovenes obviously don’t get it. Limp applause for the band, even limper applause for themselves, and a roaring little ovation for Bikofe? You have to wonder what planet our narrow, rotten minds landed on. The next banger from the bag of novelties is here – the song Spi(z)di! The tribute to the late singer of Suicide Silence was meant to ease frustrations, and the band does its job damn professionally and with quality! The breakdowns aren’t overdone and there’s no dragging on watery recipes, while the Slovenian incarnation of Lamb Of God burns the way Randy’s cavalry did in the period of transition from Burn The Priest to the era of New American Gospel and records like Ashes Of The Wake or As The Palaces Burn! Need proof? Even the crossbreed between a lamb and a bitch, the song Lambitch, is good for that! It bites damn sharp, and the steel jaws of a rabid pitbull sink hard into your cerebellum, my dears! The quintet’s stage dynamics are damn near perfect, but that night a sixth member was obviously missing – an equally tight crowd! After Countess Bathory and Musaker, and after a truly intense effort by the stage collective to awaken the spirit of Slovenian youth, it was time for some more direct poking.

»As you may or may not know, our debut Cowboys From Kredar’tza is on its way, and we’re very proud of it, but you obviously don’t give a damn because the gig is free, right? Let’s get some life out of you, you lot of toads!« Andy says into the mic, but instead of revolt and a full energetic outburst of emotion, the crowd’s temperature was at spritzer level and the pressure at the level of a whale on sedatives. You could conclude that the hall was full of newcomers and immigrants from the wider surroundings of the center … Since the music comes first, Dead Dildo Drome throw themselves into the work instead, and it undoubtedly goes well for them (hands, feet and throats alike)! Machine, a satire on post-industrial monotony and on the generic cloning of looks, mindsets and empty shells, of both everyday people and the (music) industry, is the herald that the ten-song lineup from the debut is slowly nearing its end. After the band’s already-beloved anthem, the song Death By Dildo, it’s time for the finale with a song about the insomnia that plagues every conscious individual aware of society’s currents. The closing act, Insomnia, brings the proceedings to an end. One merciful fan timidly and bizarrely leaned off the stage twice onto the first few people, but there was no sign of any revolutionary tornado of bodies and dancers below the stage. Apparently we Slovenes love to party to foreign generic crap above all (it can be damn serious stuff too, of course), and we avoid the homegrown like Satan avoids the cross, even though what’s on stage instead of wretched accordions and lame shit is something that actually deserves standing ovations and sincere praise!

Even two slightly unnecessary repeats, of Black Mark and Insomnia once more (by the way – the reprises were much lukewarmer and much more hyped), could only be wrapped up with the words: »Thank You! Fuck You! Goodnight!« Dead Dildo Drome fulfilled their job and their high standards, and I sincerely hope that after the debut drops there’ll be a bit more enthusiasm in the crowd – I mainly mean the Ljubljana crowd, which far too often carries itself as if it were anally consuming lemons smeared with Tabasco. You can only congratulate this Upper Carniolan pentagram of perfect talents and outstanding music. All I’d like to say is: »Thanks for another outstanding adrenaline ride down the slides of heart and musical passion!« Dead Dildo Drome is a name you can bet on to deliver complete live delight. The lads are grafters who don’t look for shortcuts to your minds and hearts, you just have to surrender to them. That way the penetration can be easier, and the rape announced at the start can be closer to lovemaking and falling in love with what you hear than to a violent act of imposed pointlessness. The proof will soon be here – in the physical form of a disc on which you can hone your command of guttural English. Cowboys From Kredar’tza will certainly be a record that gets a special place on my pedestal of worship, also because more than two years of shared concert road is enough for even the most skeptical grump and critic to fall in love with the triple D’s groove!