Limited PARTIBREJKERS at Cvetličarna VPK

 Thursday night. Ljubljana was once again soaked in sunshine, and the smell of spring had properly worked its way into every pore of our capital. The slightly cooler evening breeze, though, couldn’t smother the mix of sentimental feelings, old memories coming back and a deep, barely hidden sense of anticipation outside the doors of Ljubljana’s Cvetličarna. Another invasion of Slovenian stages had been carefully planned with TNT Events and was about to be pulled off by the Serbian legends of garage rock’n’roll, Belgrade’s Partibrejkers, who, through their elemental bond with traditional rock’n’roll, managed over a solid 25 years to weave together a recognizable sound that called, in an “Iggy Pop-ish” way, for hedonism and catharsis and re-enthroned the primal values of rock on Balkan soil. No makeup. No pointless blabbering. Just the smell of sweat and the sound of sincere, system-defying revolt from the heralds of Generation X. At least that’s how it was back in the distant year of 1982. The mission of these loud critics of the political mess in the former Yugoslavia and of the empty landscape of values among Serbian youth was sung about with intensity right up until 2002, when their last album Gramzivost i Pohlepa saw the light of day. After that, there was no pulse of any new surge of creativity. The mouths stayed rather apathetically mute. Ears and minds had partly gotten unused to their energetic outburst of simple rock that likes to flirt with boogie sounds and still doesn’t lack balls.

Crowds started gathering outside Ljubljana’s Cvetličarna around nine in the evening, slowly but surely filling the empty space in front of the stage. Some 400 people or more (let’s say just under 500) had three things in common: a beer in one hand, a young or slightly less young companion in the other, and 20 to 40 years on their shoulders, and the gradual warming up of the atmosphere was pretty subdued. At 10 p.m. the lights go down and Cane and company step onto the stage. The show could begin.

They open the set with a song from the debut Partibrejkers I, ‘Večeras’. The rather gentle, laid-back boogie rock sounds like background music that’s too quiet for an evening beer, and the energy in the hall stays atmospherically calm, dead, and at a temperature close to what you’d find in your fridge. “Večeras kad lutke šetaju / saznaćeš, saznaćeš istinu / Kako se osećam…” Cane’s vocals sound like he’s singing past the crowd. A light applause after the song ends. As if I were attending an a cappella concert rather than a rock’n’roll outpouring of testosterone. Then, after the opener, a description of total longing and a desire to convince, at a somewhat livelier tempo: ‘Noć’, but the sound guy stays unresponsive to the dull sound, even after the singer addresses him through the PA. The Slovenian crowds of paired-up, aging rockers just stood there apathetically, waiting for their dose of The Best Of Partibrejkers tunes, the kind you could actually use to test the flexibility of your lower spine, and the communication between the stage and backstage was the only sign of life at the show. And then the first hit. ‘Zemljotres’. The first reaction of the crowd shouting the lyrics and the first movement in the front rows below the stage. “Vreme brzo prolazi / Spreman sam da izronim / Noć me izaziva / Dolaze po mene / Glasno komentarišu / Ljudi dosađuju / To nije zemljotres / Moje srce pokušava da kuca…”. The stage dynamic gets a bit livelier, with a fitting round of applause and the first words to the Slovenian crowd. Less is more. The next song proves it, with its rudimentary sound and plain, direct address, no philosophically veiled meanings. A call to have fun and give yourself over to rhythm and letting go. ‘Hej ti dole’ serves it up unambiguously, with a very warm and sexy-sounding solo. “Priđi grupi ispred sebe / I radi isto što i oni / To je kompromisna igra / Za mene i za tebe…”. For the next few songs, too, the mood in the hall stays mostly unchanged. Metaphorically, you could only describe the crowd as a forest of freestanding candelabras. The stage dynamic was on the edge of nerves. They try to fix the rather dry and empty sound right in between tracks, so after the cannonade of ‘Ti moraš biti moja’ we get treated to a sound check on stage. A short break follows, EPP, and after an apology for the complications, here’s a fresh infusion of energy: ‘Ona sve zna’ sounds, together with the next song ‘Daleko od srca’, much more confident and with balls, and the shift to the thematically fragmented ‘Put’, which plays with the sentiments of Yugonostalgics and everyone who breathes the Balkans, reaps the first real standing ovation. “Pričao sam priče o brdu u zlatu / Svoje sam telo video u blatu / Moj duh sada slobodno šeta / Videčeš ga na putu za jug…”. After a very suggestive performance of ‘1000 Godina’ it’s time to check our historical memory again. Partibrejkers play one of the biggest hits of their catalog, ‘Mesečevu kći’, very casually and relaxed, maybe even deliberately a touch listless, and it was undoubtedly the main favorite of the evening. No! One of the main favorites from the Best Of list, certainly… Next comes a slightly funky groove version of ‘Nočas u gradu’, which lulls the audience into a bit of a daydream, deliberately interrupted by lighting up the auditorium. Where are the hands? Where’s the euphoria? Cane and Partibrejkers versus the Slovenian audience came across as unintentional provocation and meaningful glances while interpreting the lyrics. The artists on stage took on the posture of aloof artists, and the juggling with the audience didn’t flow all that organically or naturally. Still, it should be stressed that the Belgrade critics of the system, chroniclers of social hopelessness and hedonistic stoned-ness did their job solidly. After ‘Sjajni bodučnosti’ we realize we were born rotten: ‘Rođen loš’, and a call to think with your own mental potential subconsciously strings together the song ‘Hipnotisana gomila’, an imagery of an alienated society that has grown into a big cancerous tissue of people without will, goals or opinions. And then the finale, after which most of those present can head home to bed, since they’ve heard just about everything they wanted: ‘Kreni prema meni’. But the catharsis isn’t over yet. You need to be pushed through the confident, psyched-up atmosphere of a repressive society, where as a street walker you can quickly find yourself under rubber truncheons, just in case, so you don’t happen to get up to any nonsense. ‘Poulični hodač’ is a sarcastic picture book of strikes, growing rage and discontent, all in a way that’s easy for us to relate to in Slovenia too. It’s a bittersweet mix of cries for liberation and for finally finding bright ideals. And the bright light is conjured up once more by a lovable funky guitar. An erotic groove booster, a rising tide of swaying rhythm that hooks you, also thanks to an almost Morrison-like discourse, and then the regular set is over. After lengthy applause and calls for more, they return to the stage and lay out their last arguments in front of a crowd that by now numbered six hundred or so, the ones that earn them a place among the more visible rock forefathers of the Balkans. After a drum intro that keeps building, the lights above the stage come on. The lit-up faces in the hall radiate a mix of feelings. From astonishment to mild reserve, even total phlegm, and there were even a few who were completely thrilled by the tongue-in-cheek wordiness of the song ‘Gramzivost i pohlepa’, and the perfect golden ratio of proportions is completed by ‘Lobotomija’, which suggestively calls for deliberately thinking away all your worries, since that’s the only way to survive from today to tomorrow. Even more charming are the chords of a new, fresh track, followed for the big finale by ‘Kako je teško bez tebe‘. “Suviše ponosan / da bi videla kako je teško / Kako su stvari prazne bez tebe / Kako je teško / Odlazim koracima suviše brzo / Da bi to mogla da vidiš…Na meni…” and, in the style of an irrevocable farewell, just a short thank-you. The lights come on and the crowd is allowed to leave the temple of rock “debauchery”…

Honestly, there’s nothing to blame the night for. The organization was flawless. The audience was exemplary. The band was totally solid. Maybe that’s the problem. A lack of heart, rock’n’roll pathos and willpower contributed to the crowd’s lukewarm response, though it’s also undoubtedly true that we Slovenes are a pretty ungrateful and spoiled rock audience. Partly because the yearly landings and invasions of rock bands from the Balkans have become rarer. At least if we count anything other than just Bajaga and the aging Bora Đorđević. As for the hope of a somewhat bigger offering of more rock-ish and less pop-ish musical tomcats, the organizers promise it with the May extensions of the Limited concert euphoria, which will be continued by Disciplin A Kitschme. Let the metaphor be a tickling one for the taste buds this time: besides the ćevapi, pljeskavice and burek we may already have overeaten, we’ll also get some exotic buranija, Serbian pogača and a high-proof brew of homemade rakija…