Author: Sandi Sadar Šoba
Artist: Kuga
Label: Radio Študent
Released: 2013
Running time: 45:23
Rating: 4/5
It was 1981, and I was only four years old, so I wasn’t exactly weighed down by the leaden regime of one-party rule, the dictatorship of the proletariat or the censors’ vise grip of a philistine apparatus that had no love for punk. But a good thirty-something years later, after the system changed into something supposedly better and fairer, I reach without a second thought for the legacy of the bands that were back then knocking plaster off the walls of hideouts in Ljubljana, Belgrade, Zagreb and Sarajevo, fanning the flames of rebellion and revolt against the regime with intellectually charged lyrics. How similar it all feels today, only we don’t know how to articulate it as well, or we can’t. Back then our hideouts boasted names like Kuzle, Pankrti, Via Ofenziva, Otroci socializma, with Šarlo Akrobata roaring in between, plus a whole little sea of electrified post-punk new wavers, closer to or a bit further from Ljubljana’s fictional whiteness and orthodox calm. Among them, sneaking in from the background, were also the all-Slovenian, politically engaged critics Kuga, who now, a good thirty years later, finally have their first proper studio album, a document of being stretched between two systems, two axes of (in)justice. Out of sync with the order and the marching orders of the oligarchs, they’re still sharp and disobedient today, in the late years of their second, mature puberty.
The infectiousness of this plague-sweet album, Nalezljivo, needs to be understood as a record with a double core, a double heart and a double center of gravity. Two systems, two countries, two different life experiences, a multi-genre crush on both punk and reggae, and in between a solid bunch of songs that mirror the discontent with the system’s gears, both in the eighties and today, when we’re supposedly more democratically blessed, right? Supposedly we’re freer and have even better prospects of getting rich and prosperous, yet we’d all rather scream out of revolt, dissatisfaction and rage, and the opening track S sekiro me po glavi useki sings that out beautifully. Kuga are superbly balanced: Bojan Podgoršek’s vocals, almost Big Foot Mama-esque, stick nicely to the dub-style meter of the dirty, sweet guitars of Vili Domijan and Aljoša Kosor, while not one but two bass players, Žan Jenko and Borut Sončan, complement the concise drumming of the man who is the business and sonic mastermind of Demolition Group and who also left his indelible mark on the eighties-era band Gastrbajters. I’m talking, of course, about Matjaž Pegam. On the first track the outstanding chemistry between all the members shines through, and as the cherry on top, the organ sound of the wonderful Matjaž Predanič weaves into this thoroughly The Clash-soaked tune. Better to hit us over the head with an axe, dear autocrats, because we won’t put up with this dry, hard-nosed tightening of belts forever, Kuga sing between the lines, and the song then sails on into the more ska-flavored rhythm of Še en dan. Bad Brains the Slovenian way, a punchy stampede of well-balanced guitars, bass and drums keeps up the agitating against the hopelessness of everyday life. Manipulation, bad vibes and grayness are the standard, and I have to wonder whether this is a cry from the past or a song of the present, which doesn’t even matter, since the status quo is equivalent in both systems and both time coordinates.
The combination of unobtrusive but sharp punk, reggae, dub and ska is the currency with which Kuga win you over with every single song. After Sivi časi it’s time for the drudgery of Dvajset dni na teden, and it’s downright remarkable that these days I enjoy soaking up something so deliciously new wave-minded. I can’t ignore the fact, though, that the later, radio-praised Big Foot Mama also sprouted their own balls from this pool of creativity, or from those damn cassettes, bootlegs, borrowed tapes and demo tapes. I may be wrong, but this dichotomous portrait of the leaden grayness of the proletarian-self-management dictates of socialism and the »dream come true« of a capitalist order of libertarian plunder, robbing us of the last grams of sound reason and dignity, can put old and new generations side by side, and both easily get hooked on every line of Nalezljivo and nod along. The stoner-ish Bogovi sound more polished than they did years ago, I believe, and instead of noisily blaring guitars and a hoarse vocal rasp, a blend of dub and ska keeps the track rolling steel-hard toward the sharp Katastrofa (how Green Day-meets-Clash sweet that now-folk-classic tune sounds, about military service, irritated rats and outside enemies, and as for God and salvation, just forget it).
https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=EIQRBvZMSyc
Somewhere I read that Kuga from Ljubljana, the Littoral and Styria are comparable to lemon ice cream with petrol, and I’d add that this time the kerosene topping is nicely heated and lit, illuminating the corners of our happy brave new world, in which the Kralj živali is really just a pack of apes and bastards in power, dressed up in neckties. A person has to be impenetrable, coated in a protective layer so the stinking touch of the system doesn’t stick, and that’s exactly what the song Teflonski človek unloads in a salvo of verses that don’t hold back on bile and directness. Time for a bit of greenery, intoxicating substances, getting high, and after a dreamy slowed-down ballad, in the manner of a hard-hitting don from Mentoni’s crew, the great Žan, it’s time to hammer a nail into all the Proletdiktatorje. Today we’re full of time and power, but damn, we’re lousy dictators, admit it. After the battles we can all be Generali, and we hopelessly melancholically bring along maybe a bit more of the smell of freedom. The mighty emperors of our day bring freedom with barbed wire, only the brownish-green shades of stinking boots and JLA uniforms have been swapped for the more profitable undertones of the pro-European usurpation of the NATO pact and a professional army. That power is indeed sweet is something Slastna oblast adds its two cents to, and the whole package is neatly wrapped up by the nostalgic Osemdeseta, a vignette and collage of rekindled youthful energy and the punch of passion.
Kuga aren’t revolutionaries with an entirely original recipe for success and musicality, but they are a phalanx of men who came together for the noble goal of creating together. Gray-haired and aged today, they know how to appreciate creating even more, and the distance in time has given the whole thing a bit more patina, a lovely sheen and solidity, concreteness, coherence, and a musical craving to pick up a once-interrupted thread. After the reunion it’s now completely beside the point whether the story will carry on and spread its sweet revolt into the ears of the youth and of former, now slightly aged, fellow travelers from the stages in the future too. Yes, Kuga is infectious, and Nalezljivo is also a wonderful document of the dewy youth of a time, of the garage-and-hideout revolution that brought solutions up from the underground, spoke out loud about injustice and contemplated the system, while today’s youth comforts itself with the idea that what you don’t know doesn’t hurt, what you don’t see doesn’t exist, and what you don’t say can’t be used against you. We live in a wonderful new world, don’t we, and ignorance is salvation? That’s exactly why Kuga’s infectious note pulls me in, and the subversive tone of this pop-ish musical hybrid pushes an ever more polished slogan to my lips: »We’ve had enough of this crap!« Even if only for those few minutes when we collapse tired onto the couch, switch on the CD player and let a bit of sweet noise into the safe shelter of our nonconformist little corner of the universe, courtesy of that slightly forgotten genie in the bottle, who knew back in the day what good music is, with lyrics that have substance and balls!
Lineup
Vili Domijan – guitar
Žan Jenko – bass
Aljoša Kosor – guitar, vocals
Matjaž Pegam – drums, vocals
Bojan Podgoršek – vocals
Borut Sočan – bass
Guest musicians:
Damir Krušec – guitar (3, 9, 10, 12)
Matjaž Predanič – keyboards (1, 5, 8)
Production
Kuga
Track list
1. S sekiro me po glavi useki
2. Še en dan
3. Sivi časi
4. Dvajset dni na teden
5. Bogovi
6. Katastrofa
7. Kralj živali
8. Teflonski človek
9. Proletdiktator
10. Generali
11. Slastna oblast
12. Osemdeseta
