Monika Načeva - Udržuj svou ledničku plnou (Keep Your Fridge Full)

 Another represantation of the colourful post-socialist musical scene of the 1990's, this song is arguably one of the best punk offerings Czech music has to give. In her debut album Možnosti tu jsou (There Are Options, 1994), Monika Načeva combines Jáchym Topol's harsh, yet intimate poetry with straightforward punk energy and a cheeky black and white videoclip inspired by Patti Smith.

Jáchym Topol (brother of the late Filip Topol from Psí vojáci, which I covered on this blog) was not allowed to publish officially until 1989, but his poems were spread in samizdat. Udržuj svou ledničku plnou (Keep Your Fridge Full) is part of his first collection of poetry, Miluju tě k zbláznění (I Love You Madly, 1990, samizdat 1988). Since then, he has published a number of novels that were translated into several languages, and two of them were adapted to films.

Monika Načeva is a Czech actress and singer who often works with notable poets and musicians. Her work is astonishingly diverse, ranging from punk and rock to chanson or trip-hop. This is definitely not the last time you see her on this blog, because I find her one of the most interesting Czech musicians, and I highly recommend you go and find more of her work.

Karel Kryl - Dvacet (Twenty)

The holidays are coming to an end and I hope that you've had a nice vacation. This week marked the 49th anniversary of the invasion of the armies of the Warsaw pact in Czechoslovakia, so I think it would be appropriate to once again look at the brilliant work of Karel Kryl.

I chose his song Jeřabiny (Rowanberries) for my very first blogpost, because I simply cannot get enough of Kryl's masterful poetry. Today's song will be a little more complex, so that you can get the gist of why he's praised not only by casual listeners, but also by literature scholars. Dvacet may not be among his most well-known songs, but it is definitely one of my favourites. Kryl wrote it for the 20th anniversary of the invasion, in exile. In his later songs, Kryl tends to play with words and implement very subtle barbs at the Czechoslovak regime. He also criticized the people for not taking action and being compliant with the regime. However, at the same time, he was trying to inspire them to do something, and to give them hope.

Karel Gott - Lady Carneval

It is impossible to write about Czech music and not have an article about this amazing singer, so let me rectify this right now. Karel Gott's star rose to fame in the 1960's, and he continues to enjoy immense popularity to this day. He has won the national competition Zlatý slavík (Golden Nightingale, after 1969 Český slavík) an unbelievable number of 41 times (last time for 2016 - in 2017, at the age of 77!).

Ever since a young age, Gott was interested in art - he applied for studies of graphic arts, but he was not accepted and started studying to become an electrician. During this time he focused on music, and then went to the conservatory, where he studied both popular style and opera singing. Classical training gave his voice resonance, great range, and the ability to sing considerably difficult passages with ease.

In 1968, Gott asked his friends, composer Karel Svoboda and lyricist Jiří Štaidl, to write him a song that he could compete with at the Rio de Janeiro festival. They bought a liter of Myslivec, and suddenly Štaidl said the two words: Lady Carneval. Svoboda sat down at the piano, and within ten minutes, they had a song. And not just any song! It became one of Gott's signature songs, and was translated into 36 different languages.

Waldemar Matuška - Slavíci z Madridu (Nightingales from Madrid)

We can say without exaggeration that Waldemar Matuška was one of the most popular Czech singers of all time. With his fiery gaze, impassionate bass-baritone, but also a great sense of humour, he soon became the heart-throb of many a young woman in the 1960's and 1970's. People would often joke that young women could be divided into two groups: Karel Gott's fangirls, and Waldemar Matuška's fangirls (I myself proudly identify as the latter!☺)

An only son of a Vienna operetta singer, Matuška first got training as a glassmith, but his passion for music soon lead him to the theatre Semafor - a powerhouse of new talent in the 1960's - and soon became a huge star. Later, he started acting in films, his songs would be featured as title songs of many TV series. However, after he didn't return from the USA in 1986, all his work got blacklisted. His voice was erased from titular TV show songs, his latest record was destroyed, and his name was deleted from end credits. Films that he'd appeared in were forbidden. The 1990's meant a reneissance of his old songs, but even though he would hold many concerts in his homeland, he never returned from America to live here.

A popular practice in the 1950's, 60's and 70's was translating songs from the West. The originals often could not be played here at all, and people wouldn't understand them anyway. Sometimes, it happened so that the translation was somehow even better than the original - often completely changing the topic of the song. Especially popular were French songs, and that is the case of Slavíci z Madridu. Originally written as Rossignol Anglais by Hugues Auffray, it was used (similarly to Modlitba pro Martu) for the TV musical series Píseň pro Rudolfa III. (A Song for Rudolf III), from which is the video below.

Petr Novák - Já budu chodit po špičkách (I'll Walk on Tiptoes)

Let us go back to the sixties for a bit. This song was so popular in 1965 that rules of the radio hit parade Houpačka (Swing) had to be changed, because Já budu chodit po špičkách remained number one for a year and a half! It remains popular to this day, and it appears in film soundtracks and is regularly played on the radio.

Petr Novák's life story strikes as one of the rather tragic ones in the history of pop music. In his late teens, he was a big fan of the Beatles, and he and his two friends founded a band. They called themselves simply - "Beatles". Of course, before they made their first recording, they changed their name. In 1965, as "George and Beatovens", they recorded a few songs on a tape recorder and sent them to Jiří Černý, at the time director of the radio hit parade Houpačka. He picked two songs - "Já budu chodit po špičkách" and "Povídej" (Tell Me). The songs became an immediate success. Novák's two friends were drafted, but after their return two years later, the band resumed its track. This was the time of the greatest artistic success for Novák.

Unfortunately, again, the political circumstances came to play. Novák got in trouble right in 1969 when, at the music festival Bratislava Lyre, he declared a minute of silence for Jan Palach. Due to his popularity, he did not get an official ban to perform, but the regime that frowned upon western-influenced music and his notorious hard-partying and drinking (combined with not eating; at one point, he would have a beer instead of breakfast, and then another instead of lunch) encouraged organizers not to hire him any more. After his lyricist Ivo Plicka emigrated in 1975, Novák was never able to fully resume his once-promising career. After '89, there was a renewed interest in his music, but due to his anorexia, he was getting ill, and he died in 1997 (aged 51) of heart failure and total exhaustion of his organism.

His friends recall him as being incredibly sensitive and kind. This reflects in both his songs and his vocal performance - a high, tender voice with a melancholic, romantic quality. His songs cover a large variety of subjects - from a tender lover putting his girlfriend to sleep, to the confession of a dying clown, but what connects all of them is profound sensitivity, thoughtfulness, and contemplation.

Czech National Anthem - Kde domov můj

With the ongoing ice hockey world championship, chances are that you've heard the Czech anthem if you live in the Czech Republic, so I thought it would be a good idea to cover it on this blog now.

The song was written for the comedy Fidlovačka aneb Žádný hněv a žádná rvačka (Fidlovačka, or No Anger and No Brawl) in 1834. "Fidlovačka" was a traditional spring festivity held by Prague shoemakers in the city part of Nusle (where today you can find the street, park, and theatre named Na Fidlovačce). In the play - written by Josef Kajetán Tyl and composed by František Škroup - the song is performed by the blind violinist Mareš. During the Austrio-Hungarian Empire, it became an informal anthem of the nation seeking to revive its identity within the Habsburg Monarchy, and after 1918, it became the national anthem - together with the first verse of the Slovak anthem, Nad Tatrou sa blýska (Lightning over the Tatras).

Its lyricism and somewhat plaintive melody may strike as a contrast to the proud, heroic, or even revolutionary themes of many national anthems, and even some Czechs criticize it for it. However, in my personal opinion, I think it is a great representation of the more noble Czech ideals - humanism, peacemaking, and a love of the beautiful nature.

Buty - František (Francis)

For the first post-1989 Czech music post on this site, I decided to go with the band Buty, which definitely is among my top favourites. A band from Ostrava (the name "buty" means "boty" - shoes, boots - in the Lachian dialect) that started a few years before the fall of the communist regime, it came to prominency around the mid 1990's. Their style "can be described as an eclectic mixture of rock, folk music, ethnic music, country music, jazz, reggae and other genres, with witty, dadaist lyrics." (Wikipedia) I personally very much enjoy their sense of humour - both in texts and in music - and refined instrumental approach, which combine in a diversive and pleasurable body of work.

The song František comes from their third album, Dřevo ("Wood", 1995) and is one of my favourite modern Czech songs. With its jokingly plain text and somewhat naïve storyline, this song is both funny and it breathes an air of nostalgia, as it shows how with a simple deed, you can leave the world a bit better place.

Psí vojáci - Žiletky (Razor Blades)

Psí vojáci (Dog Soldiers) was a legendary underground band from Prague. It was founded by Filip Topol in 1979, together with Topol's elementary school classmates David Skála and Jan Hazuka. Topol first performed at Václav Havel's cottage in Hrádeček as a support for The Plastic People of the Universe when he was only 13.

Because of the band members' association with underground figures and the controversial lyrics of their songs, they quickly draw the attention of the secret police. They didn't even have identity cards yet when they were interrogated for the first time.

They took their name from the Dog Soldiers, a Cheyenne military society that appeared in Thomas Berger’s novel Little Big Man. Their music style is somewhat difficult to pigeon-hole. Topol was a singer and a clasically trained pianist, Skála was the drummer and Hazuka played the bass-guitar. They were influenced by punk rock, avant-garde and classical music. Their style is often described as art-rock, alternative rock or experimental rock.

"There have always been some elements of punk in Psí vojáci. Our music speaks to punks in a different way than the music of truly punk bands, but I believe we share a lot of what they feel." (Filip Topol in an interview for Rock & Pop 11/99)

The band continued to perform after 1989 until Filip Topol's death in 2013.

Modlitba pro Martu (A Prayer for Martha)

I'd like to dedicate the second part of this series to my number ONE favourite Czech singer, Marta Kubišová. And which other song to begin with than her signature song, A Prayer for Martha?

I'm going be returning to this extraordinary artist many times, because I'm simply in love with every single song she's sung. Her deep voice is captivating like none other's, and her soulful interpretation turns these profound lyrics into an almost transcendental experience.

This song - composed by Jindřich Brabec and written by Petr Rada - was originally written for the TV series Píseň pro Rudolfa III. (A Song for Rudolf III) in 1968 - then called simply "A Prayer". Unsurprisingly, it became immediately connected with the events of the Prague Spring and the following invasion. In 1989, it became the unofficial anthem of the Velvet Revolution. You can read more about this song here or here. Needless to say, in addition to some other protest songs Ms. Kubišová published in 1968-9, the song was banned by the Party and Ms. Kubišová could not perform publically any more.

Karel Kryl - Jeřabiny (Rowanberries)

Alright, so I've decided to kick this site off with a post about my absolute favourite singer-songwriter of all time. Karel Kryl's (1944-1994) speciality were protest songs - "he identified and attacked the stupidity and inhumanity of the Communist and later also post-communist regimes in his home country," reads the introduction of his Wikipedia entry, and continues:

"The lyrics of Karel Kryl's songs are highly poetic and sophisticated, with a frequent use of metaphors and historical allusions. The sparse sounds of an accompanying acoustic guitar served to underscore the natural flow of the lyrics themselves. In certain respects—especially the complexity of his lyrics and his accompaniment by a single acoustic guitar—Kryl was similar to a young Bob Dylan. However, unlike Dylan, the Czech singer had a smooth and pure voice, which gave a hauntingly sad quality to his mournful lyrics. He was bitterly critical of the new regime established after the collapse of communism in his country, including of Václav Havel, and those who were responsible for the destruction of Czechoslovakia in 1992."

Jeřabiny (Rowanberries) is one of Kryl's most famous songs, and also one of the earliest. It was first published on his debut album, Bratříčku, zavírej vrátka (Close the Gate, Little Brother), in 1969 - shortly after the Warsaw Pact invasion of Czechoslovakia. The album's cover was originally supposed to be Josef Koudelka's photo of two dead bodies in a passageway, covered by the Czechoslovak flag from August 1968, but the publishers feared that it would get banned by the censors. Another Koudelka's photo was then chosen instead - again, from August 1968 - of a boy sitting on a street in Prague, with a bullseye drawn on his back.