Niet
Saturday, 9 Aug 2025
Castra (castle walls), Ajdovščina, Slovenia
“Every weapon brings suffering
And every suffering turns into revolt“
When your wife buys concert tickets, you don’t say “niet” — even if you’re not a fan of the band, let alone acoustic shows. I’d never seen the legends of Slovenian punk live before, but like every Slovenian listener with even a passing taste for harder sounds, the melodies and words of songs like Lep dan za smrt, Vijolice, Depresija, and also the post-Habič (Primož Habič, the band’s original singer) classics Ruski vohun and Bil je maj are basically hardwired into my DNA.
For this cleverly crafted occasion, the band was enriched by the string quartet Vijolice and keyboardist Blaž Avsenik. After a slight delay, the intro rang out — Balada za obešence (a musical setting of the French poet François Villon‘s work, translated by Janez Menart, originally written for the soundtrack of the theatre production Rokovnjači). The band members and accompanying musicians took the stage. I was relieved to notice they’d taken the word “acoustic” very loosely — because apart from the acoustic guitar in the hands of former Drinker Robert Likar, what sat on stage (acoustic acts always sit, you know) was a classic rock quintet. Guitar in the hands of Igor Drnovšek, the only original member; bass handled by the youngest, Janez Breznigar. Behind the kit, the veteran Tomaž Bergant – Breht, and on vocals Borut Marolt, formerly the singer of Prisluhnimo tišini.
From the opening V bližini ljudi, we were taken on an energetic walk through the band’s back catalogue, with two breathers in the form of Bil je maj and Beli prah. The music is pure punk, which gained an extra layer of mystery through Marolt‘s baritone. Primož Habič was less of a singer and more of a vocalist with attitude, and that kind of frontman is always the hardest to replace — but Marolt proved long ago that he’s more than up to it. His interpretations of the older tracks are committed, delivered through gritted teeth, exactly as the music and the lyrics demand. Since I didn’t follow Niet’s early career all that closely, the newer stuff might actually hit me even harder — standouts were the brand-new Tema rjove skozi mesto (a proper little punk anthem), Ti in jaz in noč in večnost, and the melodic Rad imam dež.
Of course, the dark heart of it all still beats hardest in the classics with Habič on vocals — the bittersweet Februar, Vijolice, Lep dan za smrt, and naturally Ritem človeštva, whose words from the subtitle bitterly internalize the brutal present we’re witnessing all around the world.
The initially somewhat reserved crowd came alive during the morbidly joyful Ruski vohun, and the dancing didn’t stop until the end of the show. During Vijolice, something close to a mosh pit broke out with Marolt right in the middle of it. Absolutely mental.
The concert genuinely surprised me in the best possible way. The guys haven’t lost an ounce of energy, and the songs — despite the pseudo-acoustic arrangements — carry enough gloomy authority to creep under your skin and raise the hairs on it. The “vijolice” of the string quartet may have been a touch low in the mix, but that possibly amplified the raw, primal edge of the performance, which suited me just fine.
One small gripe for the refreshment vendors: there was no beer on offer, because they’re promoting local winemakers. Seriously? Niet and wine? That just doesn’t work.
Songs played (assuming I caught them all):
1. Balada za obešence (intro)
2. V bližini ljudi
3. Perspektive
4. Sam
5. Tvoje oči
6. Bil je maj
7. Rad imam dež
8. Dekle izza zamreženega okna
9. Otroške roke
10. Melanholija
11. Depresija
12. Škrati in gosenice
13. Ogledalo
14. Ruski vohun
15. Vidim rdeče
16. Ti in jaz in noč in večnost
17. Tema rjove skozi mesto
18. Lep dan za smrt
19. Molk
20. Ritem človeštva
21. Vijolice
22. Beli prah
23. Strah in krik
24. Februar
Text and photos: Igorac
