Author: Sandi Sadar Šoba
Venue: VPK Cvetličarna, Ljubljana, Slovenia
Concert date: August 29, 2013
Attendance: 1,000 – 1,200
Ticket price: €25 (presale) / €29 (day of show)
How great it is when great things come true, and young and old alike get spoiled without compromise with a rich harvest of punk. Despite a bizarrely small percentage of local buyers, the Gale Hale crew, and above all the brilliantly inspired Andrej Sevšek, keep serving this anarchic, liberation-laced genre to the masses. Even a few years ago I wouldn’t have dared predict I’d see Bad Religion and then NOFX standing on the same stage. The latter, in true megastar fashion, overlooked Slovenia for a whole 15 years, if I’m not mistaken, so it was almost unreal to expect Fat Mike and company to actually come back to our sub-Alpine nook of the wretched universe. And to bring us, three years on, a bit of joy again in lives plundered by recession and hopelessness. Miracles happen. After three Punk Rock Holidays, and despite only 400 tickets sold in Slovenia this year, the pursuit of the impossible goes on, so Sevšek and the crew decided to stage the PRH Afterparty in Cvetličarna, a warm-up for PRH 1.4, headlined by NOFX. The banquet of punkoid excess was rounded out by the Greeks from Hollywood, Barb Wire Dolls, and our own army of HC veterans with a vegan-activist message and balls of steel, the outstanding Golliwog. No excuses this time, and the trip to Ljubljana’s Cvetličarna was pretty much a no-brainer.
First up, in front of an already pretty solidly packed hall, were the anarcho-punk activists from Ribnica, Golliwog. They’d already left a good impression on me from the Orto Bar stage, where at a Drunk In Public event they proved that even in our world there’s enough talent, rage and defiance for quality non-conformist opposition to the system, with an above-average dose of well-articulated anger and criticism. Their self-driven D.I.Y. »fuck-off« to all norms of hitoid-ness is fat, loud and unpolished, and instead of dry goods Golliwog serve the crowd thick-sounding salvos of slightly robust but damn tuneful and catchy HC. What stuck with me from Orto was above all the sexy vocalist and guitarist Saša, while three proper dudes keep the pheromone intoxication in check: bassist Matej, guitarist Vid and hard-hitting drummer Rok. I sadly missed the opening part of the set, but the Ribnica anti-globalist manifesto and the colors of a proper punk party were in full swing, and the serotonin levels get evened out by the ultra-fast melodics of Serotonin Fix, which, short, sharp and to the point, slides into an extremely clear »NO!« to all corporate bullshit with the song Corporate Puppet. Golliwog have an above-average energy level, and the great stage chemistry was slightly soured by a pretty unbalanced sound, in which the vocals got a bit lost and the bass was decidedly too quiet. Still, it was impossible to resist the pit and to give in to the well-calibrated stoking of passion, with just the right amount of electrified provocation per excellance! The colors of the excellent album Plague Allegiance are well defended by the sweet-sounding gallop of Solitary Confinement. At moments Golliwog sound like a perfect blend of old-school NOFX with a dash of pro-political commitment to non-conformism and a defiant demand for a new world order of dominators. Despite the resemblance, though, it’s heard and stoked in a nicely spiced way. Make My Day proves you can squeeze a lot of personal philosophy out of yourself in a stingily allotted slice of time, and with sweaty foreheads and bodies, the offering of excellence from the stage was nicely rewarded with dancing below it by loyal followers from all corners of our little homeland. In the crowd of people in NOFX shirts you could also spot the wearers of harder-hitting and more orthodox HC bands, and among the sweat-soaked hairdos there were even a few nicely groomed mohawk circulars. Everybody present was sinking nicely into the Ribnica heart-and-soul warmers. The hot-water bottle of the night this time is the punchy lightning attacks of rhythm and melody, in which every single member of the band shines. The deliberately spread-out individual moments are placed there to hook you with suspense onto the concrete floor, ground you, pour you some straight truth and jolt you out of your worldly daydreaming and apathy. Saša and Matej trade the odd joke, but otherwise they don’t waste time on pointless chatter and speeches. Are you ready to die for the politicians and ringleaders of the new world order of enslavement? That very system is what the song Factory Of Neo-Con Stomping Boots is about, with which Golliwog serve up a not-at-all-servile sea of reasons to think and dig into the very essence of our empty existence, and you can still dance to the whole thing! More Than Meets D.I.Y. was a record of primal essence, one you can justifiably bow to even today, and in a minute and a half Optimus Prime sprinkles in all the elements of quality melo-core fun. And since people soaked in intoxicating substances are easier to steer, Planet Xanax is the spectral complement to the night, with salvos of escapist lyrics and slogans pointing away from this world and into higher spheres of consciousness. The anything-but-lovey-dovey Lovers ends with the brutally punchy revelation of Tomorrow When I Wake Up There Will Be A Brand New Happy Life For Me, which promises light and hope while also calling for action, intervention and effort.
Golliwog did their job as the air’s icebreakers superbly this night. Sweaty, hungry for more and for new surprises, many of us waited for the arrival of the Greeks, who went off to chase their dream of success from recession-wrecked Greece in the »brave new world« of Hollywood. Critics describe Barb Wire Dolls as explosive, primal, grungy-punky, and in every respect the band draws attention because these Cretans are anything but your usual musical trio. Isis Queen is a sexy vocalist with exceptional charisma, the bald, leather-trousered guitarist Pyn Doll, as main songwriter and composer, has been leading the band confidently onward since 2008, and the backbone of the sound and its homegrown commitment to revolt with old-timey roots is nicely rounded out by drummer Krash Doll. The estrogen-fueled second half of the night kicks off with a visibly tense Pyn Doll occupying the right side of the stage, while blonde Isis Queen sits on the floor in front of Krash Doll’s drums and pierces the front lines, where the curious young guys and girls had gathered, with her steely stare. Destroyer Boy confirms the rumors that there’s a lot of Nirvana mojo in the band’s punchy waves, crossed with Dead Kennedys trimmings. Anti-globalist pop with a heartfelt street punk spirit tells a story of political ferment and the collapse of finances and hopes, while Isis Queen, in her old-school punk gear, sizes up, punk diva-style, the static rows of incomprehensibly calm audience members who are visibly critical of the old tunes. So Isis dedicates to them the Misfits-like Walking Dead. The invasive combination of distorted guitar, tamed nicely by a still-tense Pyn, weaves well with the singer’s piercing voice. In a triplet of explosive Jello Biafra sharpness, it plows on constantly and well-honed, and the excessive blend of sexuality, violence and melody of the seventies, of true first-wave punk, lets you know that punk never died. At least not completely, but it took on other sonic forms, one of the most important incarnations of which was precisely grunge. With her feminine beauty and raw voice, Isis follows in the footsteps of Debbie Harry, Joan Jett and Nene Hagen. Isis reminds us that we deserve more than we have and that it’s no time to stand still, with the fact that after leaving Yugoslavia and willingly joining the EU we’ve arbitrarily sunk ourselves almost to the bottom of the dark pools of crisis, and folks obviously just plain don’t give a fuck about it, if we can be a little blunt and not mince words. World On Fire may be quite rustic, but it takes aim at every postulate of the world that sows hopelessness. The social note boils out of the sexy frontwoman through every pore. Despite a seemingly polished stage pose, you can feel more directness and belief in what they do in the band’s performance than in many a more gallantly set up and more catchy act for the masses. Barb Wire Dolls are an explosive mix of sharp critique, with a blend of music that negates all novelties and swears by the legacy of Black Flag, The Circle Jerks, Ramones, Dead Kennedys, Vibrators and the notorious Sex Pistols, and the trio doesn’t even want to please the crowds. Wild Child Diamonds in a more feminine way this time calls to mind the dirty rock of Nashville Pussy, while I Wanna Know, with its more danceable undertone, fails to weave completely into your thoughts and mood. Probably because of a false naivety that, I believe, hides something juicier and fuller beneath the surface than a reckoning with egotrips and ego maniacs. The song Your Escape puts the mood back on more punkoid tracks, and Isis, with well-thought-out walks from left to right, tries to lift the drowsy static of the Ljubljana crowd a bit. Sadly, street punk with touches of grunge just isn’t quite the right recipe for activating the masses this time. Devil’s Full Moon brings a bit of stoner spirit into the set that I didn’t expect at a punk gig, and the suspense of Pyn’s more muffled guitars leads the second leg of the concert slowly to its end. Isis Queen puts the cherry on top of the performance with a heartfelt dedication to the audience, which, I believe, disappointed the band this time. »Don’t forget to fight for yourselves. Slovenia, wake up. This song is for you. Revolution!«. Revolution sounds like early Nirvana, simple, punchy and without sugarcoating, and you can really feel the spirit of Steve Albini, who left his mark on the record SLIT, with which BWD marked their 2013. Ljubljana may not really have been conquered this time, but the guy and the girl deserve all the praise for an honest performance, even if it wasn’t fully felt and understood. I only hope the Slovenian audience’s cold shower won’t put them off from coming back to our parts someday.
Then comes a somewhat longer break, during which the roadies, besides amps, guitars and mics, set up extra elements for the perfect tuning-in of the main stars on the Ljubljana air. Besides the booze on stage, I believe there was also something less legal in the backstage area. NOFX, the big NO to everything that exists, are definitely about to shake Slovenia up, and the Cvetličarna, packed to the last corner, waited in the airless, sweat-soaked auditorium for the arrival of the band that has been sowing melodic salvos of HC loaded with cynicism and humor among the masses for the last 30 years. Among the ton of quality music in the repertoire of these Californian provocateurs and nonchalant jokers, there’s punk as well as something less orthodox. So there’ll be no shortage of laughs. When the chubby, good-natured guitarists El Hefe and Eric Melvin stroll onto the stage to reggae tones, Erik Sandin sits behind the drums, and last of all, passing over a thousand hands, Fat Mike staggers onto the stage, this time decked out with a blue mohawk and tossing his wristband into the crowd before the very start, the party finally begins. The concert celebration of the year opens with a warning: »What you’ll believe to expirience as one of if not the best show of your lives I’ll consider at best as for mediocre!« which is in no way a promise of crap, since in three decades of existence NOFX have proven that only perfection is good enough for them. The 11 albums that followed Liberal Animation testify to that down to the last chord, and this time the guys break new ground with a super hit from the album Pump Up The Valuum. On the very first chord a projectile of beer flies at Mike. The obviously good-humored entertainer just smiles at it and burns through a perfect rendition of the song about prehistoric relics of the past, while setting up the first monument to a band that, despite its fame, stays true only to itself. Dinosaurs Will Die was a great overture to the night. It was followed by a sarcastically biting remark from the band’s main throat about the sea of hairdos and outfits. The well-packed crowd then danced on, a wild dance of pleasure and submission to the short-film fury of the brief runtime of Murder The Government. Bob, a song from the album White Trash, Two Heebs And A Bean, brings back the old-school era of domination by skate, punk and booze-soaked partying with style and consistency, every chord of the exceptionally upbeat foursome calling it to mind. The first waves of crowd surfers slowly roll toward the stage, but the muscly security guys consistently turn them back and redirect them. Before the song Quart In Session, the uncompromising Mike addresses a young couple, in which a shapely girl in a skirt sat on the neck of her obliging boyfriend, telling them that women’s vaginal juices are great for a smoother throat. He sips a bit of volatile high-octane mixture from his glass on the mic stand and the show goes on. Eric Melvin and El Hefe, unflustered, keep the depilatory flow going. With the first song from the new album, titled Self Entitled, 72 Hookers, they prove that the newer material is also vital and capable of deep penetration into the heart’s center. Still, the epicenter of pleasure has to be sought in past achievements, since the new creations couldn’t be fully enjoyed yet. The fact that there’d be more peace in the world if people munched more and shot and rattled their weapons less is masked with a good dose of humorous quips. Punk In Drublic of course remains more well-trodden territory, and Seing Double In Triple Rock with salvos of ultra-polished riffs and rhythm sets every corner of Cvetličarna waving. The booze flowed in streams, and songs about alcohol are accompanied by a cheerful and willing submission to the call of eternal thirst. From the album I Heard They Suck Live, the cover of the great Rancid with their song Radio brings back a more reggae rhythm. With an association to Bob Marley and the Wailers, the dance unexpectedly goes on. Next comes the chaos and destruction caused by the great rendition of the almost indispensable repertoire song Linoleum, a hit from the superb album Punk In Drublic, after which there’s a bit of black humor from the pen, or rather woven by the alcohol-soaked mind, of the once-chubby frontman.
With the cynical conviction that they’re better than everyone, Mike picks a disabled fan in a wheelchair as the target of his mockery, promising him a miracle of bounciness with a dose of his own cocaine stashed backstage. After a short intermezzo he takes time to settle accounts with procreation in the song Fuck The Kids. From the album Coaster, a convincing rendition of Quitter penetrates, followed by a homage to Ljubljana with new lyrics for What Now Herb? This time it’s Ljubiana (Herojuana), which rhymes with marijuana, just right for reviving the smoking sentiments of weed lovers. NOFX earn themselves a few more scalps with thunderous applause, at least as far as the local youth goes. Concertgoers from the Croatian side of the border were less thrilled, since supposedly »the second best show of the European tour« was this time Ljubljana’s, while Zagreb allegedly »sucked« … Still, there were no hard feelings and the mood was hardly spoiled. The incorrigible Mike once again directs at the young couple, who’ve obviously caught his drunken eye, the idea that persistence is the key to success, and that if you carry your sweetheart on your neck all night, you’re her »bitch«. Before the excellent new song I Believe In Goddess, he admits that he too submits to the heel of his domina. Wolves In Wolves Clothing is the excuse that the guys are already getting properly hammered, and the song 60 % says with punkoid country what is the plain truth: »I don’t care how bad I fuck up / I care about how fucked up I get / I’m not your clown / I’m your dealer / And I’m holding three bindles of bullshit / And you’re buyin’ them ’cause you are addicted / To the pure and totally uncut.« This time the shine is more golden and gorgeous, and bathed in sweat and almost perfect bliss, we also get my favorite track of the night, Eat The Meek. »Why must we stay where we don’t belong?« Damn right, why? And in the introspection during the moshing, the jaws and ribs of pushy revelers stick uninvited to your elbows, people who haven’t and won’t care about your personal space. A lovely tangle of bodies and a single enjoying spirit in a perfect vacuum gets cut short by none other than NOFX, who then take a five-minute break and return to the stage after salvos of whistles and shouts. »The organizers threatened they won’t pay us if we don’t play something more for you. Motherfuckers! Worse than San Francisco!« says the band’s enfant terrible, the much-mentioned attention whore Fat Mike, trying to feign annoyance at having to perform, though at least he’s watchable and listenable! They then deliver their anti-Bush salvo of politically charged discontent with Mattersville, while the America-critical Franco Un-American is crowned by the song We Called It America. The finale was marked by the last atoms of energy. Bodies rolled toward the barriers and the security guys, who as a dam of muscle and brutality tried to defend the stage’s impregnability, though a few pairs still managed to break through to the stage. Stickin’ In My Eye, a catchy little hit from the album White Trash, Two Heebs And A Bean, continues with the Valium-inspired Bottles To The Ground, and after the noisily welcomed punko-drublic The Brews came the grand finale with the song Kill All The White Man, a last salute and »fuck-off« to the audience, and then NOFX say goodbye to Ljubljana.
But not forever, I hope, because nobody went home unsatisfied this night. The contentment of completely grinning, boozed-up young minds was total, and NOFX confirmed their primacy as torchbearers of the best punk party, one nobody can match. For all the praise heaped on the Californian stars, though, I wouldn’t forget our European gems either. As a link between the two, Barb Wire Dolls did a quality job, at least in my eyes, the local aces of exciting HC melodics, and the excellent Golliwog lit an even bigger and stronger flame of love in my heart for this Ribnica band. This outstanding overture to a new round of punkoid holidays (or the final farewell to this year’s) allowed no feigned emotions in any respect. So whoever wasn’t at Cvetličarna this time can only blame themselves. Even if you had come, there’s no guarantee you’d have found room in the completely packed hall, and after such a massive and well-attended show I’m eager for a few more reruns in the future. And not just when first-league stars are standing on stage. Quality hard workers you may not have thought of so far deserve a bit more passion, enthusiasm and support too, and they’ll gladly pour a bit more freshness, elan and passion into your ears than those few who, swimming in gold, praise and success, fight routine and boredom less keenly, since it’s always easier to be a smug shit with a full belly than on an empty stomach. Judging by how the new stuff and the old stuff from the NOFX repertoire were received, you have to at least whisper quietly: »You can’t lie comfortably on your old laurels forever,« though it’s also true that veterans with 30 years of service no longer need to prove anything. They’re a franchise that markets itself. After a show that, in my opinion, was even better than my visit to the first punk holidays a couple of years ago, I hope the experience repeats itself again sometime, since you can never have too much of a good thing, right?
Setlist
GOLLIWOG:
1. My Philosophy
2. Places
3. Deception
4. Serotonin + Corporate
5. Solitary Confinement
6. Make My Day
7. Rain Of Ruin
8. Factory
9. Optimus Prime
10. Xanax
11. Lovers + Tomorrow
BARB WIRE DOLLS:
1. Destroyer Boy
2. Walking Dead
3. World On Fire
4. Wild Child Diamonds
5. I Wanna Know
6. Your Escape
7. Devil’s Full Moon
8. Revolution
NOFX:
1. Dinosaurs Will Die
2. Murder the Government
3. Bob
4. Quart In Session
5. 72 Hookers
6. Seeing Double at the Triple Rock
7. Radio (Rancid cover)
8. Fuck the Kids
9. Linoleum
10. The Quitter
11. What Now Herb?
12. Herojuana
13. I Believe in Goddess
14. Eat the Meek
15. Mattersville
16. Franco Un-American
17. Champs Elysées (Joe Dassin cover)
18. Stickin’ in My Eye
—encore—
19. 60%
20. We Called It America
21. Bottles to the Ground
22. Perfect Government (Mark Curry cover)
23. The Brews
24. Kill All the White Man
Photo Gallery
