The term “industrial” is as good as any for describing Laibach’s music, but it doesn’t capture the operatic, faintly campy grandeur of their sound.
Given the history of accusations that they advocate fascism – owing far more to theatrics (military uniforms, refusal to identify band members by name) and martial cadences than to any ideological bent – it’s a little surprising that Volk would be their first collection devoted entirely to the reinterpretation of national anthems.
What’s more surprising is that such a potentially somber project should be so easy on the ears, something like “industrial dinner music.” Sure, you’ve got the ominous, croaking vocals (thick with portent and Slavic accents), sickly keyboards, and the occasional metal riff, but it’s all carried out with a Brechtian panache that makes it about as threatening as your average drag show.
There’s a rousing-but-facile political through line (basically, all nations are founded on violence and deception; is that really news?), but most listeners outside of the industrial devout will be struck more by the way Laibach places vocal harmonies that wouldn’t be out of place in a Gilbert & Sullivan operetta on a bed of pounding disco beats. Volk is a consistent pleasure – a little naughty, a little dark, a little less subversive than it seems to think it is, and way more entertaining than it has any right to be.