Lost in Time: Begnagrad – Begnagrad

Style: avant-garde Balkan progfolk (mostly instrumental, with the exception of anomalies of the human voice)
Review by: Tim
Country: Yugoslavia
Release date: 1982

As western rock music commercialized in the second half of the 1970s, an international movement called “Rock in Opposition” arose. Founded by the British outfit Henry Cow and soon joined by bands such as the Belgian Univers Zero, the Swedish Samla Mammas Manna, and the Italian Stormy Six, they crusaded against the banalities of commercial rock with a relentless avant-garde approach. Traits are an unserious and absurd style, and the use of non-conventional rock instruments. The iconic electric guitar was not seldomly omitted from their compositions as well. In 1982, by the time Begnagrad was released in Yugoslavia, RIO had already folded as a movement, but the similarities are striking nevertheless. Avoiding early 70s guitar shredding, the Slovenian Begnagrad used a wide selection of folk instruments instead on their debut LP. Unlike any RIO band, however, their undeniably avant-garde approach was peppered with a blend of some alpine but mostly Balkan folk influences.

In Balkan folk music time signature changes are relatively common. Sequences such as 5/8, 7/8 and 9/8 are not a rarity. However, already within the first minute of the album Begnagrad takes this to a level of madness. As soon as the drums kick in the listener gets treated with – and/or confused by, which is up to the listener – a sequence of 7/8, 15/8, 7/8, 10/8 and 12/8, then a drumless part of 12/8, followed by a section of 5/8, 5/8, 6/8, 9/8, 5/8, 6/8 and 9/8. All of this happens in the span of nineteen seconds. Then, after more technical virtuoso shenanigans – I’ll spare you the rest of the time signature dynamics – barely a minute in the woodwind section sounds like a flock of wild geese. The music continues to vary several times per minute, including a yodel section (because why not). When the opener “Pjan Ska” (The Drinking One) ends in just over three minutes, more has already happened than in many full-lengths.

However, even more puzzling than the music itself is that an album with such a free-spirited and sometimes humorous sound was released on one of communist Yugoslavia’s state-owned record labels. How this passed censorship is a mystery (although the absence of lyrics might have helped), but luckily it happened.

In the second A-side song, “Romantična”, the accordion plays a major role. It is accompanied by a mix of several other traditional instruments and some modern ones. Contrary to the meaning of the song name (The Romantic One), the atmosphere does not really reminisce of candle-lit quality time. After several complexities in the song structure, the self-mockery of the band is further displayed by a brief part with a sound akin to bird whistle. After that “Bo Že (Če Bo)” [All’s Good (Maybe)] picks up in a relatively normal and traditional manner, only to completely throw that out of the window one minute in. The focus shifts to unusual sounds such as mad screaming, instruments sounding like wood is being sawn, and distorted gargling. Then Begnagrad switch back to the pseudo-traditional sound for the rest of the song like nothing happened. Subsequently, the last A-side track “Cosa Nostra (Waltz)” (Our Thing) is actually a waltz for the majority of the song, albeit in Begnagrad style. Halfway through the song the structure fades away, leaving room for whistles, toy sounds and other absurdities, to continue the waltz later on. The waltz’ drop in pace is a welcome variation to the usual madness of the album.

Once arrived on the B-side “Narodka / Kmetska” (Folk / Peasant) the listener gets immediately plunged face-forward into something that could perhaps be best described as free jazz with folk instruments. Although some song structure is apparent, chaos is still a very apt way to describe what is happening here. With the groove indicated by a mellotron played in 7/8, a large variety of instruments gets the spotlight (even a toy piano for a brief moment) within these six minutes of playful absurdism. Thereafter, in the bass-driven high-octane “Coc’n Rolla (Ljubljana Ponoči)” [Coc’n Rolla (Ljubljana By Night)] an at this point unexpected instrument has its first appearance on Begnagrad: the electric guitar. It doesn’t clash with the rest of the album; rather on the contrary, it adds to the album’s energy formidably, whilst offering variety simultaneously. Finally, the last song of the album is “Žvižgovska Urška” (Whistling Urška), a happy piece that pivots around skillful whistling, and later on also crazy humming. It closes the album in a satisfying way.

All in all, Begnagrad is a really wild album that might still be overwhelming at the tenth listen. It’s very energetic, playful, totally absurd, stylistically unique (in the good way!), and offers plenty of variation throughout the album. Despite a length of barely 35 minutes, one could feel ten years older after a single listen. However, it is completely worth it. There is so much to discover within the seeming chaos. It’s nonsense at its best!

Recommended tracks: Pjan Ska, Bo Že (Če Bo), Coc’N Rolla (Ljubljana Ponoči)
Recommended for fans of: Samla Mammas Manna, Stormy Six, Univers Zero, Von Zamla, Frank Zappa, Alamaailman Vasarat
Final verdict: one-of-a-kind/10

Related links: Bandcamp | Spotify

Label: Wiki

Begnagrad is:
– Bratko Bibič (accordion, melodica, Faninger Klavier, voice)
– Bogo Pečnikar (clarinet, sogra, ocarina, whistling, voice)
– Nino de Gleria (electric bass, double bass, mandolin, whistling, screaming)
– Ales Rendla (drums, violin, conga)
– Boris Romih (percussion, tiny instruments, guitar, whistling, voice, double bass guitar)