Author: Sandi Sadar Šoba
Artist: Pridigarji
Label: Front Rock Records
Release: 2012
Length: 35:36
Rating: 2.9/5
A quarter of a century of existence (maybe even a year or two or five more), and mention the Ormož collective Pridigarji and what sticks in your head is the image of a bunch of oldish jokers who can squeeze more ska punk explosiveness out of their bodies than plenty of young bucks. I’ve caught them live a couple of times, and even that by accident, but it’s clear as day that these garage satirists are men on a mission, one where randomness is allowed, but under the robust, rough-hewn surface there’s way more tact and sense than you’d guess at first glance. Proof of that is their sixth record, the album Nizki udarci na visokem nivoju, which, I hope, will offend some people something awful, and the no-holds-barred social satire arrives right in the age of the uprising of what some call a zombified nation, one that’s on top of everything leftist-fascistoid. Plenty of people before me have written about the collapse of values, so this time I’ll stay inside the field of music.
And on that front, despite the years, the ID number and a slightly oldish punkoid musical heritage, it’s as relevant as hell. Pridigarji are a band that has been scaring, threatening and warning since the late seventies, after which they willingly called it quits and now pop up now and then at exactly the right moment. If last year’s Gnile duše iz Ormoža, which I stumbled on again completely by accident, was an echo of the potency of that first phase of their existence, there’s less Neolithic junk on this new record, which, in true Pridigarji fashion, is meant to immortalize the impressions of the moment, and with these funny stories plenty of people have less urge to dance and laugh than they did a few decades ago. And since there’s a lot of rot in this country, the former Gnile duše, today’s Pridigarji, are the ones who can and may throw the first stone at the usurpers of Slovenian intellect and freedom without a second thought. This round of stoning lasts half an hour, and Nizki udarci na visokem nivoju, in a dozen tracks, kicks off, tellingly, with Pet minut sreče. Hammond organ for a preacherly start, then a stampede of punk and a ska brass section. The brass is a little loose, and the vocals are just out of tune enough that you can join the animal cry for revolt. Life is too short to waste on overlooking all the stinking compost of today’s society, ruled by political oligarchs who shamelessly steal in front of everyone’s eyes, is the message Pridigarji open the record with. I have to admit there’s little tuning going on, but the music is calibrated just right for these damn out-of-tune times! Smrt, next, starts naively and predictably with a funeral march, and then, in true ska-ish mischief, comes a run of fun syncopated rhythms, horns and lyrics about Matilda. If that’s even possible, the sunny illusion of lightness is this time stretched schizophrenically between Davorin’s hoarse vocal cords and the fleeting resonance of the brass. Slovo od starosti sounds more direct, shifting the dance rhythm into a higher gear, and besides old age, self-irony and a toast to the golden years of total disconnection, the mood builds into a monolith of cabaret mockery, meant to unburden and entertain you.
The intro of Politiki is far more samba than punk, but after a few bars of acoustics a HC punk rock’n’roll uprising foams over against all the egocentric autocrats, tyrants, scoundrels and guardians of the national interest, and besides three chords of punk DIY simplicity there’s a ton of melodic inserts in its chest, which the horn section of these Ormož rebels blows in for a reason, strategically and just plain painfully directly. And then a dedication to the bald-headed dictator with the track Diktatorska! Ivan the Terrible, Stalin – they all make the list of those who ride, punish and crucify their nations, past and present, under other names. The rather naive lyrical outpouring of emotion shifts, just like the moods, tempo and meter of the musical vignettes themselves, and in the context of the whole, zombies aren’t forgotten either, with Pridigarji dedicating the little ditty Zombi v katakombi to them. Why from behind the door of the final resting place? For the rhyme, of course! Right on the same level, after the hyperenergetic rush of Ni razloga za paniko, is the necrophilic, or rather necrolosh, crime story of V interesu preiskave, a fun little song that nevertheless feels like a kind of filler in content (though not in music). The track Alarm sounds far more dynamic and varied, opening with an organ intro and fading out into a fast-moving madness of old-school punk. Pridigarji line up against the wall of reckoning absolutely everyone who should have fallen long ago, who should have acted but lack the brains or the balls for it, and with an avalanche of cultivated insults they gallantly and justifiably offend each and every one, without cursing, flipping the bird or invoking the organon of all reproductive organs! The principle of the whole record is just one, and everything else is nuance, so even on the way to the grand finale, after the tracks Principi and the totally unnecessary Incest arest, up to the track Turneja treh dežel, there’s nothing much more shocking to add to this pile of reined-in rage.
Nizki udarci na visokem nivoju really did deliver what it promised – a reckoning and insults without foul language, and on top of that you got a dose of homegrown ska punk artistry that may lack the explosiveness and vitality of Elvis Jackson and the dynamics of Red Five Point Star, but has the pedigree of the past and long years of well-honed criticality. The only question is whether this round of criticism will fall on fertile ground, since production-wise the record is for many not polished enough, and Pridigarji not cosmetically tweaked enough for today’s narrow-trousered, sweet-smelling trends. I’m perfectly content with the record, but I can’t credit the lads from Ormož with any revolutionary heights. No, this isn’t Ljubljana-centrism or metropolitan snobbery, just the fact that sometimes things can be pulled off even better, punchier, and above all without a repeating pattern of unnecessary filler. The idea was excellent, but the execution not so uncompromisingly perfect, sadly. And it’s precisely in these small details that the recipe hides for going to listen to and consume the band in greater numbers and on purpose, not by the accident of chance, as I’ve done several times before …
Line-up
Davorin Bešvir – vocals, bass
Domen Obilčnik – guitar
Matej Mertik – trombone
Andrej Rakuša – baritone sax
Sašo Barin – trumpet
Aljoša Širovnik Vičar – sound synthesizer
Kruno Kartovčec – drums
Production
Peter Dobaj & Bojan Babič – Babo
Tracklist
- Pet minut sreče
- Smrt
- Slovo od starosti
- Politiki
- Diktatorska
- Zombi v katakombi
- Ni razloga za paniko
- V interesu preiskave
- Alarm
- Principi
- Incest arest
- Turneja treh dežel
