Author: Aleš Podbrežnik
Artist: Cancel
Label: Radio Študent
Release: 2011
Duration: 65:27
Rating: 5/5
Cancel are the kind of band Slovenia simply doesn’t have enough of. They’re absolute oddballs. Creatively, they manage to pull off their own musical direction, which runs completely independent and unburdened. Their music breathes freely, with a plasma of wide-open mind and juicy intellect. They drive their own lane and they preach. Unbridled preaching. Yep. No holding back. But more on that later.
The band was revived in 2008 by none other than the label Radio Študent. To celebrate Radio Študent’s 40th anniversary, Cancel got back together for one show only. That was the plan, at least. But during the new warm-up phase – the “calibration” at rehearsals – the guys realized the true worth and value at the heart of Cancel, and gave themselves one more shot. Their gut feeling didn’t lie. Over three years, the second studio album took shape, and it’s bursting at the seams with witty creative energy, since the band’s creative genius had more than obviously warmed up to the right working temperature.
The vibe and charisma of Cancel’s sound is an intelligent mix of “hip hop-ing”, backed by an exceptional focus on a solid, “funked-up”, predatory, dynamic rhythmic drive, powered by a sparkling, deeply intuitive dialogue between drums and bass guitar that really keeps the Cancel machine rolling. Of course there are clear detours into jazz waters (Meganog), metal (Uboga gmajna, Rabljeva sodba, Začaran krog), free musical improvisation (Evolucija), with a pinch of the welcome and highly desirable element of unpredictability! The “groove” Cancel create is outstanding, and few bands in Slovenia today manage to convince with such a tangibly rhythmic, voluminous charm as Cancel do.
Strong messages that lodge themselves in the listener’s mind in an instant, delivered through (occasionally) distorted effects, give the feeling of wild, authoritative shouting from the street through a megaphone, which was exactly what the guys were going for. Laganee is definitely a master of his craft, someone who had this style of delivery laid in his cradle. The vocalist is incredibly flexible and sharp in his at times downright apocalyptic, eerily ominous, but mostly deliberately biting and boundlessly, intelligently mocking, sarcastic delivery of poetry. “Lublanščina” (no “Ćefurisms”!) is “melodic” enough to work for hip-hopping, and the wordplay in it is masterfully anchored in the fabric of the band’s musical backing and rhythmic framework. The guitar work is placed with finesse, filling out the background of the sound picture just right. The structure of the phrases the guitar uses is lively and, in chosen spots, flexibly (extra) sophisticated. With this kind of activity it deepens the intensity of the individual moods the band wants to string together and bring closer to the consumer.
The examples are clear. A verse, often delivered more subtly, is followed by an eruption in the chorus. The guitar naturally plays a dual role. In the verse it fills the background with just simple, clean “acid” chords, followed by a hyperplasia of distorted riff structures in the chorus, which gives Cancel their metal connotation too. Really, all the musical building blocks follow the movement of intense, contrasting waves of mood. The bass lines don’t hide their witty playfulness, their free-floating journey through tonalities. The undercarriage of the songs, filled out by warm, velvety, round-sounding (also fretless) bass lines with a solid core (verses, instrumental parts), can in the very next moment (simultaneously with the rest of the band’s building blocks) turn into wound-up, rattling tearing (choruses) or “slapping”. A comparison with a foreign musician? T.M. Stevens, “glavom i bradom”. These switches between verse and chorus hit with a shock, with a strongly pronounced element of surprise, even a hint of unpredictability.
In the middle instrumental sections, or at the transitions themselves, the musicians’ exceptional feel for plasma-like bursts of improvisation is clear, deepening the expressive reach of the songs even further. Cancel don’t stop at ideas.
“Kriza identitete” is exactly what the album title promises. A mirror of the absolute moral devaluation of Slovenian society in 2011. The bombardment of a highly intelligent combination of metaphor and rhyme in the verses is the album’s special charm, and it will keep you in checkmate for the whole of nearly 66 minutes of this confession-rich work. There’s no point wasting time digging deeper (in this analytical review) into the message itself, since the review could turn into a proper novel, but let it be clear that “Kriza identitete” keeps you firmly awake throughout its running time!
The political mon€yfest will surely resonate with the undisputed legend Milan Kučan too, a man whose true worth we’re only recognizing now, when it’s clear that since his “retirement” we’ve been ruled, through post-secession state decrees, by a legalized mafia, defined by a brood of sons and daughters, raised in postwar comfort, of a generation of warriors burdened by black and red, a kind we could only hallucinate about in our wildest dreams after the founding of the Slovenian state. When the judiciary and the police become a tool for the explicit protection of the legalized executioners of the nation, who are afraid of themselves. And who will trust this country after that? Cancel say it without sugarcoating. Straight up. That’s the mirror of our society today. And the people go on, gratefully silent, calmly peeling their moldy crust of bread and putting up with every new humiliation.
As for the album’s highlights, which this time you’ll have to pick entirely on your own, the closing Evolucija deserves a special mention, presenting in miniature the whole picture of Cancel’s artistic reach in 2011. “Kriza identitete” is an album that brings tears of laughter to your eyes as the verses string together, yet in that stringing it’s in no way detached from the bitter realization of grounded disappointment at the state of mind of Slovenian society, which in its bizarre moments on the album feels eerily apocalyptic, as the Orwellian design of the album cover already hints. A brilliant packaging of the product (from content to sleeve) and exactly the basic point of healthy rock n’ roll at its roots! A sharp-witted exaggeration in the plasma of fun and rebelliousness, which in its expressive depth fully touches even the most hardened soul of any consumer. “Kriza identitete” has it all!
Beyond all the basics of the quartet’s performing agility, there are of course elements of programmed sampling and use of percussion, even the occasional mandolin, all of which absolutely belong in the band’s expression. These deepen and dramatize the moods, while also providing the high dose of wit and fun that “Kriza identitete” embodies. All 14 songs are exceptionally rich in message, and the instrumental-vocal union self-amplifies in a mutually compatible way as it strings together contrasts.
With their return, Cancel fill the gap left by the departure of bands like Miladojka Youneed and 2.2.2.7. “Kriza identitete” is a manifesto of exceptional intelligence of spirit and independent artistic individuality, and a creative musical high point of alternative rock culture in Slovenia, with a clear and unbridled stance of high experimental – progressively cut – sharp-wittedness. A bone you’ll be gnawing on for a long time. Welcome home, boys!
Line-up
1. Laganee – vocals
2. Jerč – guitar, mandolin, mandocello
3. Demc – bass guitar, fretless bass guitar
4. Saš – drums, percussion
GUEST MUSICIANS:
Simon Jovanovič – guitar on track no. 14, vocals on track no. 10
Bor Jovanovič – vocals on track no. 14
Production
Saš
Track list
1. Uboga gmajna
2. Slika za slepe
3. Samo zate
4. Danes je srečen dan
5. Politični mon€yfest
6. Lovke
7. Meganog
8. Rabljena sodba
9. Nastrojen
10. Začaran krog
11. sep ej edoR
12. Pozabljene zgodbe
13. Zadnji svoje vrste
14. Evolucija
