No Means No Invade Ljubljana

 Tuesday night was something special this week. Not so much because of the weather and the chilled air whispering a quiet promise of snow, but because all eyes were pointed a bit lower, toward Cvetličarna VPK. Quietly, and with less public buzz than you’d expect, the Canadian big shots and elder statesmen of happy hardcore rhythms – NoMeansNo – announced their thirteenth visit to our parts. After their summer camp-out on the Croatian coast, nobody saw this coming, since after invading Croatia they just kept rolling on in passing, far away from Slovenia … And all in honor of the tradition of enjoying their past shows, by the way – the slightly older students probably remember the first gig in the student dorm canteen back in ’88, what stuck with me more was the last visit at Festivalna dvorana, and the alternative crowd from Celje can revive the freshest memories from the now totally defunct Kljub. Anyway: you could head off to defend alternative ideals and find your satisfaction and your fix as early as eight in the evening, when the first sounds of the night started ringing out in a pretty empty Cvetličarna.

ZMAJEV REP (20:15-20:50)
Up on stage first were Zmajev rep, a band from the Sotla valley whose sound is most simply pegged as fusion rock with a pinch of salt. The quartet – guitarist Andrej Boštjančič – Ruda, bassist Jošt Drašler and his brother, drummer Vid Drašler, with the whole lineup rounded out on keys by Ambrož Božiček – came to VPK’s relaxation center mostly to present new material. Right from ‘Begne’, the track they opened with, anyone meeting them for the first time got an intense pouring-together of instrumental motifs, patterns and images into an impressive instrumental piece that flirts rhythmically with Cobham-style grooves, mixes in a good dose of Balkan melos somewhere in the background, and, between thick layers of jazz-rock conglomerate, even breathes a whiff of Lalo Schifrin and the unheard music for the not-yet-made Dirty Harry. They took on a pretty tough challenge with Macedonian syncopation, the kind we’re used to from someone like Vlatko Stefanovski, and not exactly the usual meter for Slovenian boys and girls – and then comes a moment of pure impressiveness called ‘Tara Didlova’. Zmajev rep are excellent musicians and lovely sound manipulators. The standout factor is Ruda’s guitar and some pretty inventive solo passages, but it makes no sense to think the spotlights in Zmajev rep all point to the left side of the stage, where the father and mastermind – or better, instigator – of the band, in perfectly ordinary clothes and with a perfectly ordinary haircut, coaxes out delicate sounds, riffs and solo rhythmizing with half-closed eyes. Sanje podob, as their third full-length is called, was poured worthily into multicolored little bottles by everyone else. Drummer Vid Drašler has no shortage of feel and metronomic precision, every touch of bass warmth brings sexy low-frequency heft to the whole thing, and the Rhodes sound from the vintage keyboards can really get to you. They definitely smell of a completely different era, which is exactly why it’s impossible to squeeze them into the frame of prog, the development of rock sounds moving up along a timeline, since Zmajev rep have preserved recipes that are three decades old and lukewarm water, which still has its charm and pulls your attention from the bar toward the stage. What they’re still missing is a pinch of stage provocation and a bit more chance to shake off the static, visually barren feel in practice. Otherwise the whole package was very digestible and went down well with a good part of the ever-growing crowd. Maybe only the choice of date was wrong, and the band they went to sharpen their spears in front of …

INVASIVES (21:05-21:45)

Much more in the punk hardcore spirit of the progressive uncles who were the main reason for your Tuesday presence at Cvetličarna, the stage was taken by Vancouver newcomers who, by their own account, boast a reputation for total crowd delight at hundreds of shows, two albums, three cocks, six balls and one Hans Anus – ladies and gentlemen: The Invasives. That they didn’t come to the sunny side of the Alps to catch some rays, but to spill all their bile and burn the last atoms of their strength, they proved already with the song ‘Inevitable End’. The hyperventilated mix of Mr. Anus’s wild drum bursts is nicely complemented by bass simplicity that still has something more to it than miserable scrubbing of evenly timed strokes straight in top gear, since Adam Slack shows quite a bit more inventiveness. The central spotlight falls on the red-clad guitarist Byron Slack, who rounded out the sound in a way where you couldn’t add a single gram more instrumentation. The problem for many came when he opened his mouth and started singing. That’s because Mr. Wrong, Jello Biafra and Kermit came into the screaming choruses and psychotic lyrics and carried out their domination in one single person, torn apart by obsession. Byron proves it already by the third song, ‘Dancing On The Grave’, from the album that won’t come out until next year, when he jumps off the stage into the crowd and, in streams of sweat, steals more and more euphoria and enthusiasm from the otherwise rather reserved Ljubljana audience. They go on with ‘101 Damnations’, and soon bassist Adam starts his debut at the mic, moving from backing vocalist to second lead vocalist as well. You could list quite a few highlights in the young Canadian trio’s set, but the progressive element the guys deliver from the very first beat is the fact that they’ve successfully outgrown the frame of punk predictability and poured fresh kerosene into the canisters of the Invasives sound from stoner rock (especially the rhythmic work in the manner of Grohl’s guest spot on the QOTSA album Songs For The Deaf), modern British alternative (a few moves reminded me of Muse) and more besides. After the successful marriage to music – the lads used to be called Married To The Music – the era of The Invasives’ invasion begins. Short, punchy and carefully aimed like an unstoppable missile of testosterone, sweat, high-octane fun and above all unstoppable stage charm. Big enough that after the show they reaped applause from Slovenian lads and ladies, the kind you can hardly get moving with a tank or with the most famous MTV crap there is. “Not on the No Means No concert, baby!” is the voice that eats away at the back of your neck and burrows into every pore of your subconscious. The lineup so far was absolutely right and absolutely deliberately chosen. Invasives embrace you and lure you into a fiery dance, weaving in elements of the old, already done and heard from the records Sweet Kicking And Screaming and The World’s Gotta Go, plus the unheard and very promising album that comes out, as mentioned, next year. The lads are already announcing a visit to Slovenia for a proper solo promo run at that time, and I think the hall won’t be empty, right?

 

NOMENASNO (22:05-23:45)
And after the last chords of The Invasives, the scene looked quite different from before, as hordes of the NoMeansNo-hungry crowd started pouring through the doors into the warm shelter of Cvetličarna. The floor filled up in a flash, and the invasive Canadian punks had barely cleared the last piece of gear off the stage when the trio of old Slovenian acquaintances, who hardly need much of an introduction, began setting up their arsenal for producing controlled noise. In nearly thirty years of musical existence they’ve visited Slovenia no fewer than twelve times, and those catching them for the first time feared in vain the supposedly unlucky number thirteen on our little stages. NoMeansNo have been enthroned on the alternative jazzcore or happy hardcore scene for more than a quarter century, but the aged standard-bearers of Canadian HC defy the tooth of time, if not physically then at least in energy and spirit. Irony, sarcasm, humor and intelligent lyrics are only part of the magic. What matters is the edge of the music, which plays with the crowd’s rhythms and feelings from the very first song. The brothers John (drums and vocals) and Rob (bass, guitar and vocals) Wright took the right part of the rather unconventionally arranged stage – the drums stand on the front battle lines at the far right, the bass is in the center, and the guitar amps sprawl out on the left. In front of the Marshall and Fender amps stood guitarist Tom Holliston, who has for a good decade been filling the void left by the departure of Mr. None-Of-Your-Fucking-Business, Andy Kerr. The start is loaded to the brim. From the record Dance Of The Headless Bourgoisie roars ‘I’m an Asshole’, which instantly sets the entire front row of party-hungry fans in motion. Rob attacks the mic as if he weren’t already around 60, and Tom’s piercing stares, between ripping at the strings, cut through the dark hall looking for familiar faces. “He tried to hide, he wandered down the road / He threw away everything that he owned, still he could not bear the load / He grabbed me when I met him and my blood it ran cold / He said, “I know a little story, and this story must be told.” / But it’s lies, lies, we never heard about it / Lies, lies, and we don’t wannt to know / Lies, lies, we’ll never listen”. The tempo ramps up with a quick jump into the NMN present and the record All Roads Lead To Ausfart. ‘So Low’ is what the Canadian dudes have to offer at this moment. The definition is simple and entirely theirs: punk HC tempo of a supersonic jet, a kick in the head and irony squared. Then math in the spirit of 0+2=1 – ‘The Fall’. “The end is nothing / And you begin with nothing much / It starts with something (you see something, you feel something) / A gentle touch, a vicious punch / Just lean on over (roll on over, please move over) / You will get a little shove / Over your shoulder / A whisper saying “This is love, this is love-” / This is / First we feel / Then we fall!” Movement, intelligence in every sphere, and a cacophony of sound. That’s life. After the tandem of newer vintage, ‘The Hawk Killed The Punk’ and ‘I’m Dreaming And I Can’t Wake Up’, which paint pictures from your worst nightmares and, I admit, nightmares were never this psychotically attractive, they land one last blow with the song ‘Til I Die’. It’s about devotion and mission all the way to the cruel and inevitable end, and the crowd knows it and feels it. Because of that, the security guys, unused to rock or rather HC shows, have their hands full – the ones looking after our health this time were the uncles from VIP Security, who hauled sworn pogo-ers out of the venue, and as far as we know nobody ended up in the Clinical Center this time. ‘The Night Nothing Became Everything’ recalls the secret meaning of the album 0+2=1, and the wild tempo of bodily-fluid exchange and the passing of the mic moves from Rob to John and to Tom from song to song. All that’s missing is material from The Worldhood Of World As Such, but hope stays unspoiled until the very end. The plethora of sound and NMN ideology complement each other, though a journey through ten albums leaves signs of exhaustion on stage too, where sweat drips from faces and unsmoked air rasps out of lungs, sanding the vocal cords at full power. First break, and the Canadian grandpas leave for a provocative pause, which is cut short by calls for more. After ‘Slugs Are Burning’, material from the record One roars out of the speakers – ‘Graveyard Shift’. Applause and cheers of approval. Then another exit and one more encore. To finish you off for good, the guitarist himself takes over with the avant-garde of HC – ‘Small Parts Isolated And Destroyed’. “Small parts isolated and destroyed / See the big boys play with their toys / There is one thing I will never do / Trust you / There’s one thing that I have learned / All god’s children will get burned”. After ‘No Sex’ comes the little drama of ‘Humans’, and the grand finale is a confident, energetically received outpouring of the last atoms of strength in ‘Rags&Bones’. The lights come on. What’s left in your head is a ton of pleasure and ringing in your ears. NoMeansNo have once again blown past the crowd’s concert expectations.

 

After everything seen and heard, all that was left was heading back to the warm shelter of home and counting battle wounds. You can rate and rate a show, but the only thing that counts is a heart filled with satisfaction and an adrenaline fever that promises a return to the scene when the Canadian crew comes back to our parts. All 800 souls emptied the place and bought souvenirs, records and all the other essentials, and all three bands could head off into a new day with one more successfully bagged show and fresh scalps of potential skeptics on their belts. The imperative that stays lodged in the subconscious is YES – with three exclamation marks!

 

words: Sandi Sadar

photos: Sandi Sadar (Zmajev Rep & Invasives) & Jani Lah (No Means No)