Author: Sandi Sadar Šoba
Artist: Martin Krpan
Label: ZKP RTV Slovenija
Release: 1988
Length: 30:53
Rating: 4.8/5
Once, a slip of the tongue got the better of me and I told the gentleman with the black guitar, the great Vlado Kreslin, that it’d be amazing if Martin Krpan got back together and recorded some new studio material. Back then Vlado elegantly but politely brushed the idea off, and I, clueless at the time, couldn’t figure out where that attitude came from toward a musical past that defined the eighties, flung the doors wide open to solo waters for some, and helped others give an even bigger push to side projects that suddenly became the main act and the backbone. Dig into the past, the names and the music, though, and everything takes on its true shape and falls into its proper context. The reasons don’t matter this time, but Aleš Klinar abandoned the ship of Martin Krpan and devoted himself entirely to Agropop, and Daniel Kašnar and Tadej Sršen also unhitched themselves from the band as permanent members. The first turned his attention to the by-then ever more important Miladojka, to working with Nieti and Videosexi, the latter to writing for Moulin Rouge and Rdeči Baron. All that was left of Krpan was the name, and after the shake-ups only guitarist Mark Čuček and the exceptional vocalist Vlado Kreslin could sign as Krpan veterans. And yet one last thing happened: the band’s fourth studio album, Bogovi in ovce. Probably to put the final full stop on it and give the world a bit more musical manna, of which there’s never enough, and then give the hero who gave so much to so many a dignified burial for all eternity.
Keeping in mind that this is an epilogue and there will be no sequels, I sat down for some close listening and found that, despite a total lineup change, there’s no talk of any drop in quality. The exceptional songwriter and guitarist Miro Tomassini joins the band, and Kreso still works with him well and productively to this day. Keys go to Jure Hübscher, another Kreslin partner in crime and a member of Mali Bogovi, drums to Robi Vidic, and out of the speakers booms the sonic sequel to the album Od višine se zvrti. The flight toward the sun was obviously existentially fatal for Krpan, but it served the people some exceptional music. Bogovi in ovce is a very strong piece of songwriting, kicking off with the gorgeous Mali bogovi, which, for a moment at least, brings to mind the sound of Springsteen’s backing band, the E Street Band. Nothing’s missing – not even the sweet saxophones, and in place of Clarence Clemons it’s Urban Urbanija who adds his sweet blowing through the brass. The critique of the system is no less sharp, and this time Krpan puts the sanctimonious and the self-appointed saviors on the dissecting table, the little gods of the people, the political puppeteers of the people, and with a critique and a prophecy of socialism’s collapse some truly beautiful verses flow from Kreslin’s pen: »The little gods keep getting smaller! / They pretend to believe in God. / The little gods speak loudly / so they can be heard all the way to heaven. / It happens that sometimes / even the most devout lose the trail, / the little gods promise them / new prospects, / the only true paths. / Puffed up, they bounce / high into the heavens. / Because of the pressure they plug their ears. / With long fingers and small eyes / the little gods see only what they feel like seeing.« It works exceptionally well, with Krpan, harder-sounding than ever before, adding two concrete, punchy guitars to its arsenal of aces, since Tomassini and Čuček operate as a tight, well-oiled unit. The follow-up, Nocoj bomo mi prižgali dan, heads the same way, except that the faint echo of new wave is only a prelude to the build-up this time. Kreslin addresses and warns the people about everything they’re supposed to do, then all the stops are pulled out, and with the chorus Krpan sings that hope and life won’t die once the star’s glow has faded. Will the afterlife of socialism be optimistic and better? If only they knew …
A dialogue between God and the devil, the punchy, metal-tinged Za ljudi pours even more kerosene on the fire of passion. God made the world for people, so they’d worship him, while in Hell the ruler of the fiery end of the universe stands guard like a keeper over all those souls who gave their lives for the wrong ideals. What’s good and what isn’t depends on your point of view, and humans are stuck somewhere in between. The explosive solo in the middle of the song brings to mind, for a moment, steel-ringing Iron Maiden, except that the Krpan salt the boys rub into the open wounds of the system is totally homegrown this time, damn sharp, rough and very much a keeper. Čuden si bil že kot otrok is of a completely different essence. Hübscher’s piano intro recalls Lord’s opening organ chords on Speed King, except that the Krpans don’t explode into a concentrate of distorted guitars but shine in a more balladic, heart-resonant way. Kreslin is the king when it comes to oozing heart and genuine impression, and the images of the past, of long-gone childhood, and the tale of a dreamer who dreams while everyone else is awake, who gets up while everyone else sits, are delivered in a sensual way. Keys, the sound of keyboards, a synthesized orchestra and tastefully added drums are crowned by Kreslin’s voice singing about a boy who was strange even as a kid. Is he singing about himself? About all of us who were raised in the spirit of the Pioneers, only to suddenly swap one wind in our sails for another? Could be, but either way the story and its tangle of bitter thoughts just thicken and get more complicated.
Ovce, we’re all sheep. All the same and tame, meek, hemmed in by the fences of our own courage and daring. »All tame, quiet, the same… / white wool is our adornment!« Kreslin sings, while Tomassini’s guitar etchings weave in with Čuček’s more metallic approach, whipping up a tornado of musical menace, and the repetition is like a mantra that, instead of hypnotizing, calls for waking up, rising, revolt – but alas, that’s not in the genetic code of Slovenedom. Da te ni offers less bite, soft, dreamy and romantic. Regret, farewell and departure come through in the interplay of piano and bluesy, dirty guitars, with Kreslin’s lines about how the void left after her departure can’t be filled by anyone. Who the mysterious lady is doesn’t even matter, if we’re even talking about a lady of flesh and blood and not a goddess of ideals that are no more.
The song Z glavo v zid sounds a lot more like Klinar, even though this time it was Mark Čuček who left his authorial mark on it with his axes. A rawer, simpler song about revolt and teenage rebellion, it signs off with distorted screams punctuated by harmonica, and a hard-rock gem grooms the terrain like a hellish snowcat for a grand finale of a slightly different sound. Napačnega človeka imate sounds fully acoustic, stripped bare and yet full of soul. The accordion weaves with Tomassini’s guitar and Kreslin’s colorful vocals. »You kept me in, held me only for a short while, / until the sky clears up, / until the sky clears up. / Don’t you remember me anymore? / Don’t you like my voice anymore? / I sat on your knees, / waved a little flag, / sang little songs. / You’ve got the wrong man! / It’s not my fault, it’s not my fault, / that your eyes sting, / that the strength is draining from your veins!«
The essence of the system that had worked until then has dissolved, so the time has come for something else, time to turn the page in the book of existence. Martin Krpan bids its fans a dignified farewell, and Kreslin finally steps onto his own solo songwriting path. First with Mali Bogovi. The goodbye to the past is gradual and soaked in feeling. Then, as a troubadour of the Prekmurje soul, he charts his course alone, with his black guitar and harmonica, occasionally backed by the recognizable melos of the plains along the Mura. The sound of Beltinci and his band also wafts through them. These are already completely different stories, attributable to a completely different, more mature man who swapped his rebellious, defiant leather jacket for more breathable materials, and swapped music that defies danceability for more danceable rhythms. What matters is that the album Bogovi in ovce neatly closes the parabola of the great Martin Krpan‘s rebellion. A couple of years later the homeland of Serbs, Croats and Slovenes and all those in between, so often overlooked, fell apart, and from the burned villages and cities the great drums of war and hatred rose. Krpan had warned about it before that too, but amid the danceability and radio-friendly catchiness nobody took them seriously enough, evidently. Or maybe they did, except that the main bond between people back then was total resignation, indifference, devotion to more worldly pleasures, with no digging into political goings-on. Either way, I’d wrap up this journey, or at least one of its more important stages through the dusty treasury of the past, with the thought that every era seeks and needs its own heralds, except that some run out of breath very soon, while Martin Krpan, even after decades, after all the sea of time that has passed, never runs short of relevance and sharpness. Only the contexts have changed, the players swapped out, and the game has stayed, more or less, the same.
Lineup
Vlado Kreslin – vocals and harmonica
Jure Hübscher – keyboards
Robi Vidic – drums
Mark Čuček – electric guitar
Miro Tomassini – bass, acoustic and electric guitar
Guest musicians:
Bratko Ribič – accordion
Daniel Kašnar – drums, percussion
Urban Urbanija – saxophone
Production
Daniel Kašnar & Janez Križaj
Tracklist
- Mali bogovi
- Nocoj bomo mi prižgali dan
- Za ljudi
- Čuden si bil že kot otrok
- Ovce
- Da te ni
- Z glavo v zid
- Napačnega človeka imate
