Author: Sandi Sadar Šoba
Venue: Orto bar / Ljubljana / Slovenia
Concert date: 06.12.2013
Attendance: 150 – 200
Ticket price: €10
Everything has an expiry date, and real rock’n’roll, given its double dose of burning out, usually has an even shorter shelf life of vitality. Still, it sometimes happens that the most decadent, destructive gems of the garage scene outdo every expectation, break through the magic two-decade barrier and live to see almost three decades of existence. This time, part of that story of a singular kind of success, of pushing the limits of the possible, and above all of the real steel potency of unbending, true-believer sweat’n’roll, is told by the men who have been shattering stereotypes for 25 years, flirting provocatively with the demons of self-destruction and serving up a proper dose of garage genius. After almost 23 years of walking the edge of a nihilistic universe of poetry, the road is reportedly ending the way it was woven – fast, hard-hitting and without regrets. The bloody star of Velenje’s rock gem, Res Nullius, started shining way back in 1991, when the swaggering vocalist Zoran Benčič and the lanky six-string worshipper Boštjan Senegačnik joined their scepters of creative might and nonconformism. They then lured plenty of fellow travelers into their mission to conquer distant peaks of excellence, with people rotating behind the drums and bass over the long haul and weaving five full-blooded albums along the way. This year, it seems, is the turning point when the infernal adrenaline machine finally grinds to a halt – in the name of emptiness, of seeking new challenges and of keeping their own stage pride intact. It’s a shame, but only real men can admit they’ve reached the outer limit of what they can do, so after shocked disbelief, bitter regret and disappointment, it was time to pay tribute to the giants of Šalek Valley garage avant-garde the only proper way – by showing up at the gig for a last dance to proper organic tones.
That quite a crowd felt the same is proven by the fact that there was chronically no room in front of the stage at Ljubljana’s Orto. Besides the Ljubljana defenders of the true faith in the sex appeal of electricity, the ranks were swelled by out-of-towners from all over Slovenia, who had decided to follow this four-piece of authentic nonconformists and rebels on a mission of a proper wake and a full-honors burial of heroes, at every announced moment of the slow fade-out in December. Zoki said that December, with its perfect winter chill, is the time still reserved for Res Nullius, and then … To avoid hoping in vain for reunions after Day X, you had to follow your inner voice and be there for the one true farewell of the orators of pleasure, from their followers and believers. A little after ten in the evening, all four of them push their way onto Orto’s well-besieged stage. Boštjan Časl straps on his bass, Janez Marin sits behind the drums, and once Seni’s guitar is tuned, Zoki steps up in front of the crowd last. One of the last shows, and definitely the last one in Ljubljana, could begin. Fittingly, with Zadnji ples from the outstanding record Zdravo je biti divji. »Come to me, you / I know how to stop time / come to me, you / I’m thinking out loud / We’ll catch the sound / break into it / in a fantastic flight / fly over the day …« Zoran warms up the air. Res Nullius want to go out in grand style and, without tears of regret, do everything to burn this moment into everyone’s heart, even though the card has been dealt and it’s all decided. The gorgeous fatalism rolls on with a classic touch of sex, lust and passion. Ženske nikol’ ne čakajo sings out from Boštjan’s poisonously sweet Telecaster, while the Fender’s venomous screams, over a beautifully compact assault of rhythm and Zoran’s gorgeously decadent, lewd poetry of the flesh, fill the vaults of Orto, where the crowd gives itself over to boogie rock caresses and swaying hips. Whatever you say, life is a roll of the dice, and where it ends, it doesn’t stop – that’s the message Res Nullius drive home potently with Zadovoljstvo. With pleasure we fall and we rise again, to express aliveness and presence at the crossing of the universe’s coordinates. The gorgeous landscape of fatalism and irrevocability then speeds up and sharpens at the thunderous velocity of Dvoboj treh. »The hellish machine is breaking the ice / the hellish machine is on its way again!« Res Nullius belt out, racing and holding nothing back. Even with the seriously punchy metrics and delivery, though, I miss a pinch of passion and spontaneous vandalistic destructiveness, the kind I was constantly getting just ten years ago in the company of these Velenje veterans of leather and directness. This time only the form is left, the skeleton, and under the fabric of their former danger something else is going on, something a bit more bitter, aged and still slightly reserved. The only one burning at both ends is the thoroughly drunk Zoran. The rest of his comrades, it seems, have outgrown primal, unbridled rock’n’roll and made it their hobby rather than a youthful calling, a mission they’d be ready to die for and keep burning out on for years to come.
Another Pasji dan in a string of existential emptying-out, and everything has its price, doesn’t it? A gorgeous extract of the standard beauty of alienation, passion, and the senseless senses of urban hormone-weaving, and then a return to the primal days of the album No One Can Like Drummer Man with a raw rendition of Mama, which is less punkish than in 1991. Then comes something newer, as Res Nullius give us a quality »screw your mother« from Prekleti bazar, taking us south in V vagonu raztrganih duš. There’s something angry in the spit in the face, in the tearing off of pieces of the world they stand against. There’s something furious in defying the eternal Other from the artificial pedestal of the stage, where you can be a star for just a few bright moments. At least for those few bright moments when black thoughts and troubles can be squeezed out through the speakers, through vocal cords into microphones, through fingers onto strings and through sticks onto drumheads, out into the world, so the embittered soul can feel a little lighter. And then there’s the guy who actively fights the world, even though everyone runs away from Đoni – cats and dogs too. The little beasts and moralists who suck up our dry sweat and wait for us to decompose are somewhere far away today, and the adrenaline-soaked return to the Bazar sounds rock-potent and full. No pretending, I have to admit, and in the manner of Partibrejkers and Majke, Res Nullius pull on their silver smoke as they set about Izkrivljene ravnine, which break bones. »Tastelessly sober, I grab at the ground / pollution everywhere / toothless ghosts of fate dole it out / Beware of people who claim the truth as their own,« is poetry that creeps under your skin and has something more to say than the fake lightness of being blinded by the neon of advertising perfection. The hypnotism of decadence hits harder and is more uncompromising, and Res Nullius do their job well, no – superbly. The poisonously spiced guitar races into the unknown, and the crowd roars its welcome as we cross the Rubicon of Prekleti bazar. So far, not a trace of excess soft tissue. Plešem s krvavimi podplati is a gorgeous metaphor for the nexus of the Res Nullius world, where the time has come to distance yourself from the vampires left and right drinking blood, and in the manner of the dance-like beauty of darkness, Zoran pours his pain and bitterness into verses about a last bloody dance through the night into the morning of an unknown tomorrow. And then they cock the trigger of their Revolver ljubezni, aim it at the crowd and sweetly, mercilessly fire off the whole magazine. There’s no saxophone on stage this time, but with the minimalism of a more relaxed guitar, the set shifts into a less demanding dimension of comfort – especially with one of the band’s biggest hits, Rojen leta 72. »I was born in ’72 / Jumped off a runaway train / dressed in all the colors of the world / ’cause I’m no child of the dark / Golden skin, veins of iron / Big heart, I live the rock’n’roll drill / The street is mine, there’s only one king / My thoughts tear through metal,« Zoran confesses poetically as the confidence of the crowd joining in on the chorus touches perfection, and the on-stage farewell of the Velenje knights of garage excellence heads toward the big finale of the night.
After the march of Pistolero, we find ourselves Nekje v Sloveniji, which charges ahead destructively and with no hint of lightness, because »I’m looking for willpower / I’m looking for laughter / on a Saturday somewhere in Slovenia,« where everyone rides their own dark depressive trip in our little country, while Res Nullius climb into a nitroglycerin tank and fire off bursts of potent rockerly insolence. Rage and anger beautifully and addictively poke at the very center of the soft hearts of those who feel, and then, in an almost stoner-dirty way, comes a sentimental moment for the crowd that dreams its last dreams after Judgment Day. »I’d like to be with you / just a little with you / I’m lost without you,« Zoki shares the farewell and a pinch of sadness with Orto, and Res Nullius, without losing any potency, drive their last dance toward its end. Tu sem da dajem, say the lyrics of one rather pleasantly aged song, and after a descent into the Balkans of the nineties, the lost soldiery of an erased generation of dreamers allows itself one last Rock’n’Roll Party, after which the four leave the stage. A charming young woman climbs up, probably about as old as Res Nullius themselves, and then comes the big finale with special effects and extras. Damir Jazbec, known as Jimmy, is, despite being in his thirties, one of the best and juiciest blues-rock harmonica players around, and when he opens his leather case of well-wrapped harmonicas, he puts the final dot on the evening’s i! Already on Izštekanih 20 you could tell that the synergy between the four-piece and their special harmonica guest was exceptional, and when the acoustic gives way to something more electrified and loud, the playing gets even better! After they return to the stage, the song closes with a gorgeous version of Zdravo je biti divji, which bluesily wishes our world a soft landing, and then they all glue together the gorgeous Krvavi kolaž, which sounds like a sped-up hellish country number. »I’d like to see what you do when you’re alone,« Zoran wonders, while the tonal levels head ever more toward total destruction. Jimmy’s mic dies on him in the middle, but he gets it working again before the return to Velenje with 1000 Milj do doma, and Res Nullius drive their heart of death to the very edge of this gorgeous Friday’s existence with a compact punch straight to the center of the heart and the brutally honest »we are the night, we are the day / whoever believes won’t be cheated,«. The more demanding among us would ask for a bit more sweat and blood on stage, but after the last outburst and eruption of Rock’n’Roll, even they can calm down. »This is the city of the last days / the air tastes like worms …,« spews the necrophilic beauty of Zoran’s metaphors, holding a mirror up to all of society and happily licking the dust from the dried-up veins of an unknown lover. The grand, pompous finale under the sign of the big four-piece sounds so full and juicy that by the time the last bleeding chord fades, sadness, regret and the pompous bitterness of darkness are already in the room.
Maybe I’m slightly skeptical now, because what is good can’t and shouldn’t be cut off so suddenly, so euthanasia-final, in its very existence. Res Nullius are a band that marked the lion’s share of the time I can perceive as musical time, the one I’ve been living since my teens. They left a touch of the special on a place that, after the shift from socialism to capitalism, became a refuge for countless misguided dreamers. With the departure of the last of those best carriers of garage excellence, Velenje became emptier, blanker, more surreally discharged. Maybe it’s just a phase, a passing weakness, maybe it’s irrevocably final, but the fact is that the last stop in Ljubljana, at the well-known Orto, was written with gorgeous poetry of emptiness, bitterness, tartness and homegrown integrity, which in a world of artists eager to please is anything but the rule. Res Nullius are carved into the hearts of all of us who respect the organic nature and sense of revolt, deep and forever. After the first contact the infection stayed, and the ink stain of juicy messaging has only spread to infinity over these twenty years. They say this was the irrevocably last time we get Res Nullius. I’d add that hope dies last, and with hope for a transformation of the fatalistic universe in a more constructive direction, I wish the guys, the men, the orators of pleasure, all the best on their further journey through the chill of the world. If they change their minds, we’ll always be glad and hungry to have them on Slovenian stages, but the important thing is that they stay, as they’ve always been, true to themselves. Faking it and artificially prolonging the agony in the name of capital would be worse than the betrayal that many could justifiably hold against them until death and beyond …
Setlist
1. Zadnji ples
2. Ženske nikol’ ne čakajo
3. Zadovoljstvo
4. Dvoboj treh
5. Pasji dan
6. Mama
7. V vagonu raztrganih duš
8. Đoni
9. Izkrivljene ravnine
10. Prekletih bazar
11. Plešem s krvavimi podplati
12. Revolver ljubezni
13. Rojen leta ’72
14. Pistoljero
11. Nekje v Sloveniji
12. Brez tebe
13. Tu sem da dajem
14. R’n’r Party
15. Zdravo je biti divji
16. Krvavi kolaž
17. 1000 Milj do doma
18. Rock’n’roll
Photo gallery
