The days are getting shorter
There is less and less light
In a landscape teeming with the familiar, John Bérb-Eluha strides in with an unapologetic swagger. Known for his meticulously curated “Face the Beat” compilations for Side-Line magazine and his dark remixes for the German industrial giant Wumpscut, Bérb-Eluha now delves into the depths of his creativity with BERBELUHA. This intriguing project weaves melodies and stark sounds into a world where the peculiar becomes the norm, and satire dances with reality.
The album “Crisis,” BERBELUHA’s latest offering, is a sardonic masterwork. Released aptly on April Fool’s Day, it infuses the solemnity of post-punk and coldwave with a playful twist, much like, for instance, Sopor Aeternus and The Ensemble of Shadows or And Also the Trees on a particularly dark and adventurous day. Sung almost entirely in Polish, the album marries darkwave with sprechstimme, evoking a grittier Jacques Brel and Leonard Cohen, yet with an untamed wildness. Imagine a Polish folk tale narrated by a demon, with minimalist arrangements adorned with synths and guitars that reverberate, pulse, and breathe like the whispers of a haunted forest.
The journey begins with “Cichcem” (“Stealthily”), an instrumental prelude that sets a somber tone, leading into the biting “Szczaplam się” (“To Chip Away”), a caustic critique of anti-vaxxer conspiracy theories. Bérb-Eluha’s wordplay morphs ‘to vaccinate’ into ‘to snap’ and finally into ‘to chip away,’ capturing the absurdity of pandemic-era linguistic transformations.
In “Śliwa,” a word that dances between meanings of plum and bruise, Bérb-Eluha celebrates autumn’s bounty, spinning a tale of a garden skirmish that leaves him with a ‘plum’ under his eye. It’s a playful nod to the season’s dualities, a wry reflection on the bruises we gather along the way.
“Nie pomogłaś” (“You Did Not Help”) is a satirical love song soaked in abandonment. The protagonist waits in vain for a word that comes too late, lost in the fog of forgotten promises. It’s a poignant exploration of missed connections and the sorrow of unfulfilled expectations.
“Wake Up” follows, a minimalist hymn to mindfulness, urging listeners to embrace the morning’s tranquility. It’s a gentle reminder to savor the day’s first breaths, grounding oneself in the present.
Then comes “Aznawur,” a whimsical duet with the ghost of Charles Aznavour, whose voice, though small in stature, looms large in the singer’s dream of Parisian stages and simple, heartfelt pleasures.
“Uszy Romana” (“Roman’s Ears”) tackles the grim specter of suicide with biting humor, chronicling the singer’s battle with deepening despair. Even the once-amusing ears of Roman Kołtoń fail to lift the fog of depression, painting a vivid picture of inner turmoil.
The album closes with two evocative instrumentals, “La Chitarra” (“The Guitar”) and “Przez łzy” (“Through The Tears”), offering a poignant conclusion to this eclectic and phantasmagoric collection.
Listen to Crisis below, and order from Bandcamp here.
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