Niet: »Il chiusura e finita – punka commincia«

It was almost surreal, a couple of weeks back, to walk into Orto bar again after months away — for reasons we all know — and it felt almost as strange writing these lines, which is why this review is running a little late. And not just any Orto, mind you — a packed, sold-out Orto! Organized by Dirty Skunks, the venue was sold out by the veterans and giants of the Slovenian music scene, Niet, who long ago outgrew the mere status of Slovenian punk legends and became a band that hits just as hard at student parties as it does in the ears of more demanding listeners. This night was no different — it was plain to see, even by the blind and deaf, that people were starving for live music, and for more decibels than an acoustic guitar can muster, which over the last two years had become all too common even at those handful of gigs that did happen (not that there’s anything wrong with acoustic music, of course). In short, to not drag this out — if the cult live album Live from 1995 announced the Niet concert with the resounding words »Il disco e finita – punk comincia«, then tonight we could say: »Il chiusura e finita – punka commincia«!

Before the punk onslaught, though, warming-up duties fell to something in the same ballpark — grunge (with a few extras thrown in) from Ljubljana trio Sickbreed. The band released their debut studio album The Joy in Deception less than two years ago, and then already dropped their third, The Mirrors Words, last autumn amid the pandemic. The trio ripped through a solid half-hour of fat riffs and hard rhythms that at times dipped a little too deep into the Seattle grunge melting pot, particularly in the direction of another trio — none other than Nirvana, of course. Although Sickbreed occasionally echoed the biggest export product Seattle ever produced — both in image and sound — their newer material made clear they’re breaking free of grunge’s shackles, with more modern approaches on offer, and at moments they drifted nicely into heavier, almost stoner territory. A solid warm-up!

That my opening words about Niet’s status aren’t just pulled from thin air is proven by the fact that virtually everyone who was anyone on the Slovenian alternative/underground scene at the time paid tribute to the band on the 1993 compilation Drž’te jih! To niso Niet!!! (which was even available at the merch stand, where your humble writer was finally able to replace a worn-out, skipping CD copy from his high school days). The debut Srečna mladina (1984) and the compilation Niet (1993) are without doubt of historical significance to Slovenian music, and the fact is that Niet — whether you’re a fan or not — belong right alongside the cave flute from Divje Babe in the textbook of Slovenian music history. Niet didn’t spare the crowd that had packed Orto to the last corner, launching straight in with the timeless Sam and Tvoje oči, while the audience gulped down the noise and energy pouring off the stage like someone dying of thirst in the desert. Then again, we’d been genuinely parched for events like this for a year or two, which was obvious in Orto right up to the last chord. Borut Marolt said very little this time around; the music did the talking, and individual lines from hits like Izobčeni, Depresija, Umiranje, Ritem človeštva, Paranoja and others hit even harder in the current moment, placing the individual — the human being, with all their good and bad qualities and the problems partly caused by those in power — squarely at the center. Niet also treated Orto to Ruskega vohuna, which has become even more relevant today, when our current government — as is becoming increasingly obvious — is scared stiff, like the devil of holy water, that a Putin KGB/FSB spy is lurking around every corner and would have us still living as if Europe were divided by the Berlin Wall and the term »behind the Iron Curtain« still meant something (where old grandmas pull up red beets). That they’re no mere nostalgic cry from the past, the band proved with newer tracks, led above all by Dekle izza zamreženega okna, Vidim rdeče, and the wonderful Rad imam dež with its solemn-sounding chorus, which cast a spell over Orto and sent the whole place into euphoria. And so, through a set of more than an hour packed with two-to-three-minute punk blasts, Niet brought it all home to a glorious finish with the evergreen, timeless classic — obviously, Lep dan za smrt (only missing some hidden gem like Queen of Snakes).

It takes so little — and yet so much — to feel full again. Sometimes two or three chords are enough. Niet and the Orto crowd proved together that we haven’t and won’t become homo covidus, as defined by Dan Podjed. Human beings are social creatures, and no government can stop that. The well-known Roman saying goes Ubi societas, ibi musica — where there is society, there is law — but we could also say Ubi societas, ibi musica — where there is society, there is music!

Photos: Nina Grad