It's hard not to admire the three-decade career of Slovenia's Laibach. Over 20-plus releases, the band has crafted its own universe, an imaginary political-art state dubbed the Neue Slowenische Kunst (i.e. New Slovenian Art). Such intricate self-mythology is rivaled only by that of the Residents-- both groups boast anonymous members, theatrical performances, and an affinity for concept albums. Laibach even has a lead voice-- an unmistakable Teutonic growl-- that stalks the songs the way the Residents' main warbler haunts his band's albums. It all makes you wonder if anyone has ever seen both groups in the same room.
But that comparison falls flat when it comes to musical innovation. Where the Residents' unique, influential sound still feels fresh, Laibach's music has rarely broken new ground, and in recent years has become increasingly generic. In that sense, Volk is a typical late-period Laibach album. Here we get an intriguing concept-- adaptations of national anthems-- that seems ripe for political commentary and sonic transformation. Yet the album is quickly dragged down by unchallenging, forgettable music.
Take "Espana", an interpretation of the Spanish National Anthem. Our hero's chanting of the tune's simple lyrics is oddly compelling. But his growl is wrapped inside generic synth-pop with cheesy keyboards and clichéd backing vocals. It comes off as a decent replica of the Psychedelic Furs circa Pretty in Pink or David Bowie circa Let's Dance, but how Laibach could find that worn-out sound worth mimicking (or relevant to Spain) is hard to fathom.
Things get even worse when the band tries to be clever. "America"'s lazy take on the "Star Spangled Banner" ("Are your stars still so bright? / Does your banner still wave?") barely rises to the level of high-school satire (generic techno beats and televangelist samples don't help). On "Anglia", a toothless critique of England's political arrogance sits limply atop a sub-Nine Inch Nails throb, while "Rossiya"'s combo of drum machine and child chorus is Moby-lite, if such a thing is even possible.
Volk isn't devoid of worthy moments. "Germania" is a nice mix of piano and earnest crooning that recalls Antony and the Johnsons; "Nippon" turns the Japanese national anthem into a string-heavy rock opera; and the surprisingly straight choral hymn of "Vaticanae" is stirring. But even those tracks are more like well-executed genre exercises than original music.
It's telling that the best piece on Volk is the album-ending anthem of Laibach's own fictional nation. A scratchy marching-band piece that sounds dubbed from vinyl, with lyrics sung by a Stephen Hawking clone, "NSK" is a strong reminder of how weird and fascinating this band can be. But it's an even stronger reminder of how indistinct and inconsequential the rest of Volk is.
