Author Archives: Nikola

Discussing the evolution of her sound, the politics of personal expression, and the freedom found in musical experimentation, Lucy offers a glimpse into the mind of an artist unafraid to challenge boundaries and expectations. Enjoy the read and make sure you don’t miss the concert!

If someone were to listen to your full discography in order, what story or evolution would you hope they hear?
That’s a really interesting (and slightly frightening) question to contemplate. I’m not sure. I think it’s a confusing story – but hopefully not a boring or predictable one. I hope they hear experimentation, and a slow shaking off – or dressing up – of fear.
I took the first album I ever made offline a year after its release because it didn’t sound like a beginning. I was trying to skip steps. So I started again. To me, the first EP sounds like searching. It was a young group of friends learning – about how to be in the world, and about how to make, record, and mix a song.
The first full-length Lost Boys album was the same group of friends with a bit more confidence in their musical ideas, and maybe a little less confidence in their ideas about life. Sleeping Tapes stripped everything down – in so many ways – and I think since then, I’ve been trying to rebuild and reimagine what music and meaning-making can be.
I’m less under the illusion that you can represent yourself – or any kind of truth – the “right” way. It’s all a kind of play, however serious it might sound.

Is there a musical or thematic idea you’ve deliberately avoided exploring in your work so far? If so, why?
Thematically, I wish I could be more overtly political – in a nuanced and meaningful way – but I’m not sure how to do that, and it frightens me. Being deeply personal and excavating my own experience still feels like the most possible path for me.
Musically, I grew up on hymns and musicals, so I have to keep an eye on their influence. There’s no way to avoid them entirely, but I try not to let them take over.
In general, I try to find a sound that fits a story or feeling, rather than starting with a musical idea and shaping the emotion around it. I’ve occasionally said, “Let’s try something dancier” or “Let’s make this one faster” – but it usually still comes out slow and doomy. I think even my attempts to deviate get absorbed into our universe, which I don’t mind.

Have there been moments when audience interpretation of your work challenged your own understanding of it?
I went to bed with this question on my mind, hoping to wake up with some kind of thought or memory, but I don’t have anything for this yet. I’m going to take it with me.

Do you consider your music political, even when it’s personal? If so, what kind of politics are you engaging with—or resisting?
I do think the personal is political – but it’s something I’ve heard and said so many times that it can start to lose its meaning. I really admire those who are clear and articulate about their politics in their art, but I am not one of those people and I don’t really create with a manifesto in mind. I have a deep desire for freedom (although I barely know what that means) and explore it (ad nauseum) in my music. A lot of what keeps me from that freedom is political, even if it shows up in intimate, internal ways. I think being able to express the pain of that kind of quiet oppression is a step toward loosening its hold. Maybe I’m just trying to make space for the mess—emotions and contradictions that don’t fit neatly into any system.

Your records resist easy classification—they touch noise pop, dark folk, ambient, post-punk, even ritual music. Do you think genre still serves any function in how you create—or how you’re understood?
I think patterns and frames help humans make sense of experience, so I don’t mind too much where we get placed in terms of genre. We’ve been lucky to play on quite musically diverse line-ups, and I find it interesting to feel our music and performance in front of audiences with different, specific perspectives – to be the pop act at the metal festival, or the goth act at the world music festival.
I’m not very loyal to a particular genre. I’m drawn to elements in music for their capacity to express. I like noise because it stirs something physical, and I like the silence after because it sharpens whatever’s left.
I’m saying all of this, but the truth is I don’t think too much about genre when I’m working. Sometimes in the rehearsal room, we’ll try something and then ask, “Is this too rock?” – so I suppose we are trying to avoid being caught in one particular space for too long. But mostly, we just make what feels good. I think a lot of artists like to believe they’re escaping genre entirely – but from the outside, it’s probably pretty clear where we land.

Is there a question you wish interviewers would ask you—but never do?
They don’t ask me about politics very much, actually. Perhaps that is a bit strange – but after answering your earlier question, I realise it might also be a relief. I feel very strongly about certain things, but I get anxious trying to articulate them – or anxious that I won’t articulate them properly.
Language is a mess, and it feels so final when you put it on paper. Music is a much safer place to make a mess. And I want to make a mess – because I was taught, very clearly, that you shouldn’t.

You played Močvara in Zagreb as part of Europavox, a setting that often brings together artists exploring the edges of the genre. Now that you’re returning to that same venue outside of the festival context, what feels different—either in terms of where the band is now, or what you want to create in that space this time around?
We had such a fun show, and I’m so excited to come back. We only played for half an hour, so it was short and sharp – and sometimes those sets can feel a bit brutal. As if you’re only sharing one aspect of your slightly deranged personality. I’m looking forward to offering a few more layers of madness and sadness this time.

Is there a song in your repertoire to which the audience reacted differently from what you would expect?
They’ve helped some songs grow. Half of a Woman went from a whisper – or a whimper – to a kind of war cry in my mind and body, which was a very lovely thing to feel. I also had no idea how people would respond to Burning Building, which felt adventurous and slightly outlandish for me – so I was pleasantly surprised to be able to make an audience smile.
What do you listen to these days? Do you know about some less known/young  artists/colleagues that you would recommend to us?
I’ve been listening to a guitarist called Hayden Pedigo a lot lately. Between the Lost Boys, there’s also so much beautiful music being released – Crow Baby (Jean-Louise’s band), Alienbaby Collective (Liú’s solo project), and André Leo (an original Lost Boy). Fellow Berlin musicians EERA and Tara Nome Doyle have also just released – or are about to release – new music.

Anita Ulovec (Volontiram u Močvari)

Check out the interview we did with Los Sara Fontan before their concert.

Your performances seem very physical and intense. How important is the body in your music-making process?
As a violinist and drummer, the body is a key element when performing. On stage, we put our bodies to play the instrument, to make the sound alive and to connect with the audience, to send them all that energy that is generated in our bodies when we play together. However, when it comes to composing, perhaps we live the process in a more emotional, more mental, more internal way.

Sara, as a classically trained violinist, how did you begin experimenting with electronics and loops?
I started experimenting with improvisation and how to transform the sound of the violin at a fairly advanced age, around 27/28. The first analogic pedals were left to me by my friend Pau Rodriguez (Za!) and since then a world of colours and possibilities has opened up. Thanks to all this sonic exploration an inner look has also opened up, what do I listen to inside me? And how can I show it with a concrete and limited life set? I like to play with physical but not imaginative limitations.

Edi, coming from a background in bands like Za!, how has your approach changed when working in a duo setting?
ZA! and Los Sara Fontan are both duos, and this formation allows for a very fluid and constantly changing dialogue on stage. A duo is capable of matching each other in tempo, volume, dynamics… to almost become one. It is also demanding, because when you are only two, you can’t hide behind a crowd. Finally, duos do not work by simple majority, but by total consensus. It is an intense and fulfilling relationship.

You describe your music as “music without songs.” What does that phrase mean to you artistically?
The song is a concrete musical form, it has existed for centuries and usually contains intro, verse, chorus …. we do not compose on the basis of this structure. We like the free form very much and it gives us a lot of satisfaction to find structural solutions outside of the pre-established musical forms.

Do you ever feel pressure to “tone down” the experimental side when playing for more traditional or unfamiliar audiences?
Not at all, and not because of our creative ego, but out of sincere respect for that audience. Softening your speech before an audience means underestimating that audience, and we are convinced that the capacity for listening, curiosity and open-mindedness of any human being is very broad. The problem lies precisely in our own self-censorship: by guiding our actions by thoughts about whether something will be more liked, or sell more, we tend to ratify the status quo and validate the simplest option, the lowest common denominator. Like a cold spaghetti without sauce: everyone can eat it, but does anyone really want to eat it?

Has any audience reaction ever caught you completely off guard?
A few months ago we did a street concert at the end of a popular festival in Tiana, a village near where we live. There was a moment when the audience became very energetic, they made pogos of weird dances and a very unique atmosphere of corporal expression was generated. We had to improvise a last song so that they could continue dancing, unforgettable!

What question do you wish more interviewers would ask you?
Perhaps questions that are not so musical, for example, how do we coexist with the contradiction of travelling and being sustainable? Or how are we able to keep smiling in the face of the patriarchal, climatic and structural catastrophes that surround us?

What do you listen to nowadays?
This last months, Sara has listened to classical and contemporary music, random Tidal, jazz, her students’ pieces, electroacustic… On the other hand, the latest top five acts on Edi’s player would be Venetian Snares, Laurie Spiegel, Oranssi Pazuzu, Sal del Coche and Olivier Messiaen, in no particular order.

What is your favorite performance so far?
We have many good memories from live acts, but one of our most recent favorite performances was at Sugar Illegal Fest in the city of Vic, an event that takes place in the middle of the street, with no stage, no lights, no permit, no money involved, completely surrounded by the public.

Do you have any particular plans, announcements, messages, advice you would like to share with your existing and future fans through this interview?
In times of political deactivation due to information saturation, we find consolation in two phrases that serve us as a guide. One we saw in a silkscreen printing workshop in Bratislava that said “Don’t work for assholes, don’t work with assholes”. The other was said by Fugazi many years ago, but it feels more valid than ever: “never mind what’s been selling, it’s what you’re buying”

Anita Ulovec (Volontiram u Močvari)

Blending performance art, radio roots, and a love for tape culture, Das Kinn makes music that’s raw, strange, and full of tension. It’s part punk, part New Age, and always a bit hard to pin down. We caught up to talk about growing up in Frankfurt, chasing a sound that’s never quite finished, and why contradictions make the best music. Enjoy the read.
You can find out more about the concert — here.

You’ve got a background in performance art and radio, which gives your work a really thoughtful edge. Do you think of Das Kinn more as a character you’re playing, a kind of commentary, or maybe a way of transmitting something bigger?
For sure Das Kinn is some kind of character. It exists to channel impressions, observations and thoughts of mine. An artistic commentary on all day live absurdities and socio-political issues.

How does your work relate to contemporary German electronic and punk traditions? Is there still a meaningful avant-garde community in Frankfurt, or is Das Kinn a reaction to its absence?
There’s not many interesting things coming out of Frankfurt in recent years, to be honest. There’ve always been protagonists setting up things within the spheres of punk, experimental- and electronic music but it hardly affected people enough to do daring things by themselves. This city is difficult. Since it’s an international city claiming to be big, but actually it’s quite small. People are just passing through. So it’s hard to establish a situation or a scene that lasts. Something that could be passed on to the next generation. That’s one of the reasons why I’m doing what I’m doing. To get out of here and connect. Gladly there is a network all across Germany and beyond, which makes this possible.

Some listeners have likened your work to a kind of audio archaeology—excavating lost voices, decayed technologies. Is this an intentional curatorial act, or simply what happens when you hit ‘record’?
I like the idea of lost or forgotten futures being present in the music I make. Although it’s not an intentional concept. I think this sentiment originates in my sources of inspiration, which is mainly music from the past. From a time where dissident aesthetics and a rejection of the status quo merged with an interest in technological achievements and musical experiments and created something that was unheard of before. To be more specific and anticipate your next question: It’s mainly music from the late 70s and early 80s. Surprise, haha!

Your music often balances tight, repetitive structures with something that feels raw and immediate. Do you feel more connected to the steady pulse of krautrock or the sharper edges of post-punk?
I feel connected to both. It’s the balance between raw minimalism and complex synthetic arrangements that interest me music wise. When I started Das Kinn, my idea was to create something that oscillates between New Age and Punk. I like contradictions.

Was there a particularly unusual moment/place in recording where the sound clicked and you thought, ‘That’s it’?
No. I always have the feeling that I’m almost there. I can almost touch it! And once I arrive there, I have the feeling that I’m almost there… My main goal is reduction. I would like to find a sound that is really raw and vibrant but reduced and precise at the same time. So I still have some way to go…

What do you listen to these days?
I mostly listen to tapes. I love collecting them. It’s some kind of musical world on its own. There’s still stuff that’s exclusively released on cassettes. It takes time and effort to listen to them, since the architecture of the tape is not designed for single tracks. You always have to listen to the whole thing. Here’s some tapes I recently enjoy listening to:
Rehash – Aktion Reaktion! (Mangel)
Diensthund – Schreibtischtäter
Aprés Skwee (Istota Ssaca)
A nice Mixtape titled „Japanese Post-Punk, Goth & Wave 1980-1991“ I found in Glasgow and one titled „Digging Central Asia: Musical archaeology along the Silk Road“.

On Ruinenkampf, there’s this striking push and pull between melody and dissonance. Is that tension something you’re consciously chasing, or does it just naturally emerge from the way you work?
As mentioned before: I like contradictions. I always find it annoying and exhausting to listen to music that is pure melody or noise. Its main goal seems to be to overwhelm the listener. I don’t like that. I like music that teases me. Sounds that invite me, just to challenge me the next moment.

Could you share some story, moment or experience from one of your past performances?
There’s a lot! I played on boats, in castles and caves. On a beach and in a cinema. In front of 8 and 800 people. Sometimes sober, sometimes drunk. Once a guy switched off the electricity during my set. I don’t know if this was a reaction to the music or an act of social disobedience. Both seem to be plausible motivations.

“Stirn reicht ins Genick” – its sound was so captivating for me. I heard tension, motion, aggressiveness, chaos and then there is this short harmonious little melody that stays in the head after listening. Where was your mind when creating it? What does it represent?
This song expresses a feeling, which grows bigger in me, as I grow older. I converted it into a scenario:
You’re sitting in an accelerating vehicle. The speed is high. You see the finishing line already. But you can’t feel any excitement. No wind blowing through your hair… I tried to translate this tension between motion and emotional numbness into the harmonic and rhythmical structure of the song. I’m glad it works for you!

Anita Ulovec (Volontiram u Močvari)

Zdenka Kovačiček otkriva što znači biti ispred svog vremena. Iskreno, hrabro i s puno stila — baš kao i njezina glazba. Pročitajte intervju ove jedinstvene umjetnice koja pamti dane o kojima većina nas danas može samo čitati. I naravno, vidimo se u Močvari, 16.6.!

U jednom od prijašnjih intervjua, spomenuli ste vjeru u karmu i pravdu – možete li opisati konkretan trenutak u kojem ste doživjeli da se nekadašnja nepravda vraća u pozitivnom obliku?
Moja vjera u karmu i pravdu vezana je isključivo uz diskografiju. Zašto je tome tako? Moji su projekti bili ispred svog vremena, a tadašnji Jugoton – danas Croatia Records – nije imao ni instinkt, ni poslovni interes da to prepozna, pa su odbijali svaku moju ponudu.
Posljedica toga jest i činjenica da je album Frka iz 1984. godine danas ostvario gledanost od 23 milijuna na YouTubeu, a oni ga nisu niti reizdali. Danas se reizdanje mog prvog albuma iz 1978. prodaje po visokoj cijeni stranog izdavača.
Nijedan moj jazz-projekt nisu izdali; samo su ga distribuirali, kako ne bi morali uložiti ni kunu, a ipak su na njemu zarađivali. Jedini jazz-dvostruki album Ella i Lela financiralo je Ministarstvo kulture RH.
Sve se to sada vratilo, kad su moji albumi postali visoko cijenjeni na sajmovima vinila.

Rekli ste i da ne prihvaćate lošu glazbu niti priznajete da je novac glazbeni motiv – jeste li ikada osjetili pritisak industrije da prilagodite svoj stil komercijalnoj formi, i kako ste to odbili na način koji je ostavio trajan trag u vašem radu?
Nikada nisam dopustila nikakav pritisak da promijenim svoj osobni stav prema vlastitim idejama i diskografiji, bez obzira na okolnosti – jer tada to ne bih bila ja, već prodana duša.
To je razlog zašto sam radije sama financirala tri albuma, nego pristala na kompromise. Nažalost, i tada su me prilično izigrali jer nisu učinili ništa po pitanju promocije.
Na primjer, moj album na engleskom jeziku bio je prvi takve vrste, ali je prošao potpuno nezapaženo na našem tržištu, iako je na stranim festivalima bio pohvaljen. I dan-danas stoji u nekoj ladici, ali vjerujem da će i za njega doći pravo vrijeme.

Koja je vaša pjesma vama najdraža i zašto?
Ne mogu izdvojiti jednu jedinu pjesmu jer sam pjevala različite žanrove – jazz, rock, pop… U svakom od njih postoji barem jedna meni posebno draga. Frka, Žena za sva vremena, Me and Bobby McGee…

Koji vam se profesionalni rizik najviše isplatio?
U našoj profesiji sve je rizik. Nikada nisam razmišljala na taj način. Rizik je kad vjeruješ u pjesmu, a ona ne ostvari očekivani efekt. Frka je bila veliki rizik – možda upravo onaj koji se najviše isplatio! Znali smo tada da “prelazimo granicu” zbog “guzice” – i evo, nakon 40 godina, došla je na svoje.

U glazbenim žanrovima (a i desetljećima) u kojima dominiraju muškarci na sceni nikada niste koristili ženstvenost kao alat. Možete li podijeliti trenutak kada su vaše vokalne sposobnosti zatvorili usta nekome tko vas je podcijenio na temelju toga što ste žena?
Postojalo je razdoblje kada su žene itekako dominirale rockom – doba Woodstocka, 1969. i 1970., kada je Janis Joplin predvodila aktivistički rock i blues. Žene su tada slale snažne poruke, bile su prisutne u gotovo svakoj grupi – Joan Baez, itd.
S vremenom su žene postale vizualni objekti. Čak je i Tina Turner, iako snažnog vokala, unijela seksipil kao dodatni “začin”. Kod nas je sve to kasnilo. Kasnije je zavladala ekscentričnost poput one kod J.Lo – koja nema veze s glazbom – sve radi privlačenja pažnje masa na primitivnom Balkanu. Danas je to otišlo u neslućene visine.
Ja sam uvijek pokušavala naći ravnotežu – da ne ispadnem iz trenda, a opet ostanem oku ugodna. Nikada nisam osjetila otvorenu diskriminaciju.

U jednom ste trenutku imali mogućnost karijere u SAD-u, no odlučili ste ostati u Zagrebu. Kada danas pogledate na tu odluku, što je prevagnulo u donošenju iste – emocije, intuicija, okolnosti, hrabrost…?
Moja odluka da se vratim u Zagreb bila je isključivo osobne prirode: raspad braka, stari roditelji, nepovjerenje prema raznim obećanjima, te želja da imam obitelj. Bila sam svjesna da bi za uspješnu svjetsku karijeru morala žrtvovati neke meni najdragocjenije trenutke u životu – i nisam požalila. U tuđini si uvijek stranac.

Je li vam se ikad dogodilo da ste zbog svojih stavova (glazbenih, političkih ili društvenih) platili cijenu – kroz cenzuru, ignoriranje ili isključivanje?
Moji stavovi su, mogu reći, isti od rođenja. Imam čistu savjest i ne mogu biti licemjer. Često kažem što mislim, ali kada je to nepotrebno – radije šutim. Svijet ide dalje, ja ga ne mogu promijeniti, ali se pokušavam prilagoditi. Ignoriranje sam doživjela isključivo zbog nečijeg primitivizma ili nepoznavanja osnova glazbene umjetnosti.

Danas, kad sve može biti „content”, što je za vas i dalje nepodmitljivi kriterij između umjetnosti i puke proizvodnje?
Moj jedini kriterij je dobra glazba i vlastito zadovoljstvo – ono što bi se moglo nazvati “gušt”. Umjetnost je opstati s takvim kriterijima – a meni je to uspjelo zahvaljujući pomoći mojih roditelja, koji su me osigurali za cijeli život. Zato ne znam što je to “puka proizvodnja”.

Da se danas sretnete sa sobom s 20 godina – ne na sceni, nego u tišini sobe – što biste toj djevojci rekli iskreno, bez mitologije, bez distance?
Sebi s 20 godina – s ovim današnjim iskustvom – rekla bih: “Ne vjeruj ljudima. Ima puno zla, pokvarenosti i loših karaktera, čak i među najvećim umjetnicima. Talenat i osobna kultura nisu isto. Takvi te ljudi mogu duboko razočarati.“

Postoji li neko sjećanje koje vam se vraća bez obzira na vašu volju – neki kadar, miris, rečenica, trenutak, doživljaj – i ne pušta vas ni nakon desetljeća?
Puno lijepih koncerata i kazališnih predstava – kod nas i širom svijeta – pamtim kao da su se dogodili jučer. Žalim što su prošli. A ljude koji su me razočarali jednostavno brišem s popisa.

Anita Ulovec (Volontiram u Močvari)

U srijedu, 11. lipnja 2025, Močvara postaje mjesto povratka jednog od najzanimljivijih domaćih eksperimentalnih sastava – Moraines. Nakon dugogodišnje stanke i intenzivnog rada na novom materijalu, bend će predstaviti svoj prvi album u 15 godina, praćen impresivnim vizualnim i svjetlosnim showom.

Koji je najčudniji kompliment ili usporedba koje ste čuli o svojoj glazbi? (ili o frizuri?)
Rekli bismo da “naša glazba je poput vođenja ljubavi s nepoznatim bićem iz svemira” dosta visoko kotira na listi čudnih komplimenata :), a najomraženija usporedba nam je kad netko kaže da sviramo metal. Kao… svašta jest, ali metal sam po sebi nikako nije. Ma zapravo, mi smo u višegodišnjim dilemama kako se uopće definirati i s čim usporediti. Lakše nam je pričati o uzorima svakog člana (međusobno poprilično raznolikima) nego doći do konsenzusa o žanru. Neki od nas tu čuju i punk, neki math rock, neki goth rock i opet, nekako, svega toga ima i nema uopće. Na kraju, sve ovisi kako čije uši nešto registriraju i kako mozgovi to što je poslušano povezuju s ranije konzumiranom glazbom, istraživanjem i poznavanjem iste uopće. S frizurama smo isto tu negdje u sličnom kaosu…

Možete li izdvojiti jedan nastup kojeg se vrlo rado sjećate, i obrazložiti zašto vam je baš taj ostao u dobrom sjećanju?
Postave i glazbene faze benda su se kroz godine mijenjale, pa bi bilo najpoštenije spomenuti barem tri nastupa da to sve obuhvatimo, a evo i kratkih važnih razloga uz svaki – Močvara, 2008. – prvi koncert, i odmah smo dobili priliku svirati na eventu s jednima od naših uzora, berlinskim The Oceanom; potom na platou Gradec u sklopu Gričevanja 2014., što je bio naš prvi samostalni koncert i vjerojatno najposjećeniji; i za kraj onaj “povratnički” ili “drugi prvi” nakon skoro 8 godina apstiniranja od pozornice, 2022. opet u Močvari.

Za portal Ravno do dna, nazvali ste svoj proces kreiranja glazbe “bjesomučna improvizacija” te komentirali: “Počnemo s idejom, a onda je pustimo da raste. Nema puno razmišljanja, samo osjećaj”. Jeste li ikada složili pjesmu do kraja pa je “pobrisali” jer je zvučala “poznato”?
Dobro pitanje, i čak moguće da nismo, ili svakako nismo u potpunosti, nego bismo tražili načine kako da “poznate” dijelove pjesama preradimo da postignemo nešto drugo/novo, a istovremeno nekako i ostanemo koliko-toliko u konceptualnoj poveznici s prethodnima.

Što ili koga vi slušate ovih dana?
Vrlo teško za odgovoriti, i ono za što danas znamo da je netko iz benda slušao jučer, sutra vjerojatno više neće biti tako, svi dosta lutamo i šaramo po interesima, posebno danas kad svega ima previše i beskonačno. Nepravedno je u tom smislu baš ono izdvojiti nekoga ili nešto… ajmo samo reći da Pelican ima novi album.

Nastupali ste s nekim značajnim imenima poput The Ocean, Celeste, Aussitôt Mort, Heaven In Her Arms, Meniscus i Syndrome… Postoji li neko ime koje biste baš jako voljeli vidjeti u nastavku ove liste?
O da, da, da – od još uvijek aktivnih već spomenuti Pelican, potom Mogwai i God Is An Astronaut (usput ubacujemo vrlo razmetljivi hint poštovanim organizatorima – oba benda su kasnije ove godine u Zagrebu, a mi smo slobodni ;)), a ako vrijedi spomenuti i neaktivne, neki od nas u bendu bi slobodno mogli i umrijeti nakon dijeljenja pozornice s, primjerice, Isisom, Neurosisom i Junom (za ovo nitko ne zna, a ako ipak da, pišemo vam peticu za scene cred, javite se za gratis ploču Morainesa :)).

Biste li razmotrili suradnju s bendovima ili umjetnicima iz neke od inozemnih scena koje ste upoznali – i ako da, underground glazbe koje zemlje vam je zanimljiv/cool/privlačan?
Naravno, samo u današnje doba, kad i u jednoj Hrvatskoj postoji bend poput nas, vjerojatno više nije ni važno čija je i odakle je scena, ljudi dobro briju svoje priče u svim dijelovima svijeta. A evo, neki ziheraški odgovor bi bio, pa naravno, SAD, većina glazbe na kojoj smo odrasli ipak je potekla otamo, i očito da postoje vrlo snažni razlozi zašto su nam onaj konačni zvuk albuma oblikovali Amerikanci a ne Hrvati ili neki drugi. A ako ćemo baš o undergroundu, europske zemlje su tu i dalje na tronu, Njemačka i Francuska su neiscrpno vrelo svega što poželiš, a i mnogi drugi su na toj razini.

Da imate priliku organizirati hrvatski post-rock, post-metal showcase u inozemstvu – koga biste poveli sobom i zašto?
Toliko nas je danas malo ostalo da, ako bismo se uopće uspjeli dogovoriti, stali bismo svi vjerojatno u manje od dva kombija. Recimo, našu braću iz Emphasisa (Čakovec), s kojima smo vjerojatno imali najviše zajedničkih gigova kroz godine, a za bolji balans bilo bi super povesti i math rock veterane Peach Pit. A da su ovo neka prošla vremena, kada je ta scena kod nas bila najživlja, vodili bismo i pokojne Lunar, Radio Free Isaac, Don’t Mess With Texas, Stormse…

Zamislite da pred vama stoje slušatelji koji vas još nisu imali prilike poslušati/streamati, a vi imate opciju odsvirati im samo jednu stvar sa zadnjeg albuma. Što birate?
Uf, opet teško pitanje na koje bi sasvim moguće svatko iz benda imao svoj odgovor, i iz kojeg bi nastala nova mučna bendovska rasprava. Nekako oprezno i objektivno se možda da zaključiti da je upravo prva stvar s albuma, Anima, nekakav sukus zvukovlja koje slijedi iza nje – tiho, sporo, lagano, glasno, distorzirano, furiozno, dinamično… Ta stvar ima možda i najbolji balans svega u jednom i moguće da u konačnici, na snimci, ima i najveću čaroliju od svih. A kroz godine smo je zapravo najrjeđe izvodili uživo.

“Pet godina pisanja, četiri godine snimanja, pet godina miksa i mastera, te godina rada na vizualu”. Samo jedna večer u Močvari, odakle je sve krenulo. Što nam spremate za 11. lipnja?
Spremamo još jedno feniksovsko dizanje iz pepela, po tko zna koji put u osamnaest godina života ovog benda, a u paketu s time i, nadamo se, najitenzivnije zvučno i vizualno pojavljivanje do sada, skoro sat vremena non-stop muzike uz bogati light show. I ne bi bilo u redu na kraju ne spomenuti i druge bendove, koji su jednako važan dio te večeri, Mass Culture iz Atene i zagrebački Prisonplanet. Grci su na europskoj turneji, domaćima je ovo tek drugi koncert, a mi smo evo tu negdje između, s prvim albumom u 15 godina 🙂 Vidimo se, bit će to jedna skroz dobra močvarna srijeda!

Anita Ulovec (Volontiram u Močari)

Marc Dwyer, better known as Buzz Kull, is an Australian artist who has been crafting a sound that straddles the line between isolation and connection—music that hits you “directly in the chest” while exploring the darker corners of human experience. Read more below, as an intro to his performance on May 21st.

Have you ever tried to write something completely out of your genre, just for fun or as an experiment?
Over the past year, I’ve been asked to record some covers for compilation releases. The selection of tracks I can choose from is sometimes limited and often beyond the usual style I lean towards. For example, I’ve covered a country song by Merle Haggard and a slow love song by Savage Garden.
At first, I was concerned about the outcome, but over time it’s become a nice way to break out of the regular routine or framework I was locked into.
While working on these covers alongside new material for my upcoming album, I’ve noticed the development of new styles and concepts that I still believe fall within the Buzz Kull sound. These tracks feature different rhythmic patterns but can still be portrayed as dark and danceable.

What’s the most unusual non-musical inspiration that’s directly influenced a track (e.g., an article, a memory, a scent, architecture)?
The first one that comes to mind is a track from the last record called Man On The Beat. It was written with the memory of the first time I drove around the coastal roads in Malibu. It’s not tied to any particular story from that day—just the visual imagery and the location itself.
Otherwise, there are always memories that link to my work, and unfortunately, they often come from feelings of sadness or anger toward people treating others poorly.

What’s the most low-tech tool or method you still rely on in your creative process?
If I’m on the road and writing new music, I’ll still use the MacBook keyboard as a MIDI synth. I don’t use a contemporary keyboard with those capabilities in my live show, so I have to use what’s readily available. I also still use the little microphone attached to Apple headphones. I’ve been using all of these for years when recording.
Sometimes I’ll change the room or environment I’m in to see if it sparks anything new in my brain or ears—just by picking up my computer and listening to tracks directly from my MacBook speakers.

Is there something you’re deliberately not doing in your music right now—and why?
If there are bass sounds or tones that I’ve heard in many contemporary songs, I try to avoid using anything that comes too close, in order to keep my work and sound within its own realm.

Tell us about your favorite performance in your career.
All of the recent shows in the U.S. with Cold Cave have been wonderful—it’s hard to choose just one. But others that come close are the shows I’ve played with Spike Hellis. They work so hard and push a lot of boundaries, which inspires me to push the live show to its greatest potential.

“Fascination” marks a shift towards a more club-oriented sound. What inspired this evolution, and how did you approach blending EBM, new beat, and synthpop elements?
I wanted the tracks to sound big and hit you directly in the chest from the audience’s perspective. I wrote them with a vague idea of how they would be perceived and heard in the kind of dark, underground clubs I tend to play in.

Your music often explores themes of isolation and introspection. Are there any personal experiences or literary works that have significantly influenced these themes?
Always. The world has been draped in a blanket of sadness for years, and it’s hard to write from a positive perspective. I try not to write in a way that wallows in misery, but rather to empower listeners to see another day.

You cited influences like Front 242, Cabaret Voltaire, and Depeche Mode. How do these artists inspire your work, and do you draw from any non-musical sources?
All of these bands are, and forever will be, the blueprint for these styles of music. You can write a track with a drum machine and a synthesizer without even thinking of these artists, and still find that something in your brain adds a hook or drum fill that comes from their originality.
As for non-musical sources, there’s always something—whether it’s architecture, films, or moods drawn from day-to-day life—that feeds into the creative process.

What music or bands are you listening to?
In the past few months, I’ve been diving into the early discography of the Pet Shop Boys, and exploring classic European synthpop artists like Deux, Secret Service, and Desireless.
I’ve also been working hard to break out of my usual drum and percussion structures. Listening to Spike Hellis has inspired me to try some freaky things I wouldn’t normally consider.

What is the most unusual venue/place where you’ve performed?
There have been quite a few places that felt out of the ordinary for me, especially since I don’t often get to experience events held on boats, in old churches, castles, underground bunkers, or wine cellars back home in Australia.
Nothing feels too unusual anymore, since I’ve done them all now, but I do recall how different it felt the first time around.

Anita Ulovec

We spoke to Carolina, somewhere between underground basements and highway playlists. Distortion is their comfort zone, chaotic tour life boosts their humor and their amps might just be the best and kinky storytellers of all. Enjoy the read and join us on their concert on Monday, 19.5.2025.

How is tour life treating you so far?
It’s very cool getting to see a lot of different places and people. Changing languages everyday. It is very tiring because we are carrying all the stuff we need to play everyday. Sometimes there’s stairs, bridges, underground basements but we are happy the shows are going great.

Your sound fuses grunge, shoegaze, and punk with this hypnotic heaviness — what part of yourselves do you think lives in the distortion?
There is a certain comfort and warmth in distortion.

Do you ever feel like you’re redefining what it means to be a rock band from Mexico on the global stage?
No but we are showing what it is like. Raw.

Can you describe a moment during rehearsals or recording where everything just clicked — like a sonic or emotional breakthrough?
It is interesting seeing how everything fits. Our music taste, bands we like and what we play simply unifies.

If your amps could talk after a show, what would they say about what just happened on stage?
I like it when you put your guitar against me.

Is there something mundane or totally ordinary that inspires your sound in unexpected ways? (e.g. city noise, bus rides, old cartoons?)
Machines.

Do you have an internal ritual or a habit which you do before going to the stage?
Just a nice drink.

What music do you listen to these days?
Depends on the mood. We’ve been listening to Deep Purple on the highways.

If your band were a dysfunctional family at Christmas dinner, what role would each member play?
Our drummer would be the funny drunk.
Our guitarist would be the smoking uncle.
And our bassist would be the wine crazy aunt taking care of dinner.

What do you think or hope that your listeners take home with them after your performance(s)?
Tinnitus.

Anita Ulovec