Artist: Čao Portorož
Label: Kapa Records
Released: 2013
Length: 22:38
Rating: 4.6/5
Klubski maraton 2012 served up some nice sweet surprises, and the one that definitely stuck in my memory was the young foursome Čao Portorož, who after four years of existence can already show off two full-length records. Rather than swearing allegiance to one single genre diktat of purism, the young quartet has mostly shown a love of experimenting in that time, blending nineties alternative with a mighty whiff of the Balkans, a commitment to punk and the garage metrics of total rawness. Make no mistake – these guys aren’t from the coast, they’re a Ljubljana collective that cares less about sales figures than about plugging into the madness, sweating out a full dose, and making a total getaway, a revolt against the world and the system. After these few years the recipe has produced, above all, a run of quality music that smells of the Belgrade–Novi Sad triangle of Disciplina Kičme, Boye and Obojeni program, says the press blurb (I personally hear even more Repetitor), and if you throw in a bit of the primal feel of Fugazi, Jane’s Addiction, plus doses of more subversively tinted rock (including the seeds of some early U2 and something more Central-Eastern), you get close to what Čao Portorož represent and are. Definitions don’t even matter. What matters is that I admit right off the bat that the second record, titled Čao Portorož, infected me so nicely, got under my skin so pleasurably, that I can already name it one of the better homegrown albums of this year, right now.
It works from the very first screaming squeal of Evroazija, where the sweaty guitar sound of Andraž Petrič and Gregor Andolšek shakes hands with the playful rhythm section of well-ruffled bass from Ivian Kan Mujezinović and drums from Aljoša Cetinski. A layered, passionate, organic sizzle of well-articulated noise is glazed with just-right off-key vocals and dadaistically simple pro-Serbian anti-globalist stanzas about consumerism, the flood of products from the lands of the rising sun, and, over the whole thing, a loudly voiced revolt against the penetration of capitalist seeds into the conscious and subconscious of our beloved world. The punchy, short opener moves on, more articulate, into Ljubavna, a sweet new wave track on steroids that perhaps even takes a yard or so from early The Cure, but in a nineties garage way. It’s a tale of superficial relationships, infatuation, the pull of unfiltered impressions, and the guys simply toss everything into the thinly veiled symbolism – images of morning coffee, a night of excess, a hormonal hangover, and sketchily outlined physicality. Žare Pak’s production touch caught just the right open echo of the Gustaf hall in Maribor’s Pekarna on tape, and the quartet works tightly bound and compact. The guys come across as healthily frustrated, because instead of lifelessness the whole thing is packed with dynamic spark-hopping and tiny brilliant ideas. Ću, well known from Maraton, sounds even more finished and polished this time, just the right amount of alienated, and next to the lyricism of Zeleno (bogami i Šupljeg) Zub, the dadaists, in form and content, pour enough alienation kerosene onto the flames of inner burnout. If you said the guys are running their own Zeitgeist movie, you wouldn’t be far off, and you’d be even more right if you added that they don’t contemplate and philosophize at length, but give themselves over unburdened to riffs and a dance with their own demons of inspiration. It’s precisely too much pseudo-profundity that kills a lot of music by most Slovenian musicians who want to be better than they really are. With Čao Portorož there’s no faking, and it all flows nicely, paying no mind to the running time, with every track under three minutes.
The gorgeous Chien glues you to your seat even harder, with a guitar riff and the playing of drums and bass even dirtier, doggier, if I may borrow the French meaning of the word. A lovely jam session unfolds from the first echo of the guitar intro riff, to which a second guitar, bass and drums cling almost erotically, while Gregor’s whispered »Chien!« slides over the top. This multi-act piece in short form sums up all the elements of Čao Portorož’s genius when it comes to rhythm, the interplay of melodies and their exceptional chemistry. The effect of a good song is complete because the guys feel each other superbly, dare to switch from a galloping rhythm to a more haggard western trip, grant themselves a bit of psychedelic freedom, borrow a bit of The Edge’s concept of guitar, and slip meditatively back onto their brutal tracks. Chien is a mantra and truly discharges the tension, while at the same time forcing you to take another bite of eclectic unpredictability, which carries on with the shift into Ma. And here we’re at U2 and Mothers Of Dissapeared, creeping into the foreground from somewhere in the background, except that Čao Portorož aren’t peddling political slogans, they lend their throats only to deliver new layers of sonic cultures. After the intro they allow themselves a switch to more funk-ish terrain, which reminds me damn well of Dandelion Children, except this time the sound is entirely their own. 84 is then a thoroughly primal counting-out rhyme that counts years and cites numerological fragments, while a gorgeous garage imperative of riffs, total freedom and tearing down barriers creeps over the whole thing. Those barriers fall completely with the gorgeous filth of the explosive Anže, which sows a good dose of screaming guitars full of distortion, greasy bass and unstoppable drums. The lyrics are, well, rudimentary and unimportant, which suits me perfectly as someone who falls harder for rhythm, riff and feeling, and there’s plenty of danceability for a whole squadron of unsatisfied fans of true alternative. The closer, Kino Udarnik, is calmer and more new wave, dominated by exceptionally timed bass and a playful weave of guitars, and the multilogue (a dialogue happening simultaneously between all members of the band) unfolds smoothly and toxically addictive. All the way to the last fade-out of indie guitar cannonades, which washed the ego clean of all junk and abolished any alter ego that might dare to spit against this potent foursome.
The music beat the templates, passion outplayed intellect, garage ran over the pop-ish urge to please, and the end result is a proper short-film symphony for the ears. After only three years away from the studio, Čao Portorož have indeed leveled up, improved, grown and toughened. The proof is undoubtedly a record that deserves a chance for a lot more than a single spin in your player. It’s also right to listen to the songs more than once, because in the layers of pleasure, in the marinade of lovely details, there are plenty of pearls that only reveal themselves after multiple listens. I hope the story doesn’t repeat itself where, the moment you praise someone, they let vanity fill the folds of their brain and then veer off the good path of quality growth toward complete dumbing-down, crippling their once-good ideas and hunting for a recipe for better listenability and likability. Čao Portorož have done everything right this time, and with anticipation and thirst we’ll be waiting on tenterhooks for a studio follow-up that will, I hope, measure up to Čao Portorož. It’s no easy task and by no means a given …
Lineup
Anže Petrič – guitar
Gregor Andolšek – guitar, bass on #8
Ivian Kan Mujezinović – bass, guitar on #8
Aljoša Cetinski – drums
Production
Žare Pak & Čao Portorož
Tracklist
1. Evroazija
2. Ljubavna
3. Ću
4. Chien
5. Ma
6. 84
7. Anže
8. Kino Udarnik
